


A Lovely Day

by Anonymous_1701



Category: Fred Astaire - Fandom, Fred Astaire x Ginger Rogers - Fandom, Ginger Rogers - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Golden Age Hollywood, Idiots in Love, Infidelity, Inspired by Real Events, Old Hollywood - Freeform, RKO Studios, soul mates, trigger warning for a slight incident of spousal abuse, wish fullfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_1701/pseuds/Anonymous_1701
Summary: STORY FIVE"Let the rain pitter patterBut it really doesn't matterIf the skies are gray.Long as I can be with you,It's a lovely day."Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers start production on their fourth film together, "Top Hat". Willing to continue their affair despite the risk, they rise to fame as a result of their chemistry onscreen - and off.Follows the film " Top Hat" of 1935.
Relationships: Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire x Ginger Rogers - Relationship, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers
Comments: 17
Kudos: 14





	1. A Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe it won’t work out. But maybe seeing if it does will be the best adventure ever." ~ Unknown

March 3, 1935 - Sunday

The shrill ringing of the phone wrenched Hermes Pan from a deep sleep. Throwing out a hand, he closed on his watch. 6am on a Sunday. He stumbled to the phone in the kitchen quickly though. He didn’t want it to wake up his mother or sister in their rooms. He snatched it up as it rang a second time.

“Hello!” He wasn’t polite and he didn’t care. Scrubbing at his tired eyes, he willed them open.

“Hermes? It’s Lela,” Her panicked voice brought him abruptly awake. “Ginger’s gone missing again. Lew said that she never came home.”

He ran a hand through his thinning hair. Ginger had disappeared six months ago, too, and ended up in Oregon. Then, she’d been distraught over thinking Fred didn’t want to work with her and it had resulted in the poor choice to marry Lew Ayers. What had happened now? 

“Um, I don’t know, Lela,” he answered, as worry fluttered in his stomach. “She didn’t talk to me about anything. Do you want me to call Fred?” 

A harumph on the other end of the phone answered his question, “She’s not there and Fred was annoyed that I called.”

“Well, he and Phyllis are having a hard time,” he definitely was not awake enough for this conversation. “And it IS six in the morning. You should have let me call Fred.”

“Well, I’ll let you know when we find her. Drat that girl!” Lela hung up, not even waiting for an answer. 

Hermes set down the receiver and leaned on it for a moment. Life was never dull around his two dramatic friends who were having a quiet affair. Each desperately regretted their poorly planned marriages, and just as desperately loved each other. Sadly, their personal lives were as tragic as their careers together were triumphant.

Where had the girl gotten to now? And why?

He shrugged on his threadbare favorite bathrobe and stumbled outside to see if the paper was delivered yet. In his tree-lined, modest driveway parked an incredibly fancy car, worth probably what his house had cost. He huffed a huge sigh of relief. Ginger’s car. The 1929 white Duesenberg was one of a kind, literally. It was the only one of its kind ever made and it was unmistakable.

He walked out onto the cold and wet sidewalk on tiptoe, trying to stay as dry as possible. Peering inside, he could see Ginger’s tiny form in the small backseat, wrapped up in her coat and an afghan. She looked like a child all bundled up against the cold. He knocked on the window.

“Hey, Ginge!” he called to her, trying not to wake his neighbors or family.

She stirred and sat up. Rumpled and startled, she caught sight of Hermes face and her shoulders dropped in relief. “Oh hi, Hermes.”

“Come inside!” he gestured towards the house and she climbed into the front seat and stepped outside. Wrapping herself more tightly in the afghan, she grabbed her purse and followed him.  


“What on earth are you doing in my driveway?”

Only sleepy silence met his inquiry. She shrugged and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Sit, sit, sit!” he said, guiding her into the living room to the couch. Her blond hair, disheveled and sticking up in places from her uncomfortable nights’ sleep, made her look much younger than she was. He didn’t resist his impulse to hug her. She winced and Hermes immediately let her go. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held her arms in concern. She shook his hands off with a shrug and silently pushed up her loose sweater sleeves. On either arm were clear fingermarks. Someone had grabbed her far too roughly, and the bruises he’d left behind were already turning blue. It wasn’t hard to figure out who. No wonder she hadn’t stayed home. She slid the sleeves back down, and looked at the floor, not at him, not knowing exactly what to say. 

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” He squished next to her on the couch and wrapped her up in his arms. As she relaxed against him, he filled up with indignant rage. He wanted to march over there and punch in Lew’s face, but that wouldn’t help Ginger. Right now, her safety was the priority. She sniffled into his chest but didn’t give in to tears. “Did he hurt you in any other way?”

“Don’t tell Fred,” she said, as she shook her head. Hermes hummed non-committally. That wasn’t a promise he thought he could keep. Instead, he fluffed up a couch pillow for her.

“Just lay back down and get comfy. You could have knocked at any time, you know, and slept here,” he chided her. They’d known each other for over five years, since they’d worked on Broadway. They had both moved to Los Angeles at roughly the same time a few years ago, and had been best friends ever since.

“I know. I didn’t want anyone to see me in the state I was in. Besides, I like sleeping outside,” she mumbled and snuggled down into the soft couch and the warm afghan. It had been a cold spring night, and the afghan had barely been adequate. She drifted off to sleep, feeling safe at last. 

Hermes made himself a pot of coffee and thought hard. He should tell her mother, of course, eventually, but Lew needed to be persuaded to keep his hands to himself, preferably without police involvement. The studio frowned upon anything that might give it or any of its stars bad publicity. Working with Fred and Ginger these past few years had opened up a whole new world for Hermes. Now that they’d made the big time, Hermes was along for the ride and he’d made a whole bunch of new friends, as had Fred and Ginger. He hit upon a way to handle it on the low down. Pleased with his solution, he found his little black book. 

Dialing the phone, he explained to the sleepy man on the other end how his friend had ended up sleeping in her car in his driveway, afraid to go home to her own house. In a moment, it was all arranged. He hung up, well satisfied, and then called Lela. She’d be relieved that her precious daughter was asleep on Hermes’ couch. He would leave it up to Ginger as to what to tell her. 

**************************

Lew stumbled to the door, battling his hang over and resenting the loud banging. He and Ginger had gotten into an argument last night. Again. It was all a little vague to his mind this morning, but it – and all the booze – had left a bad taste in his mouth. Was it so much to ask that she behave properly? They’d gone out to dinner with friends, and she had danced with everyone who asked, until it looked like she was avoiding him. It was embarrassing.

He yanked open the door and three men shoved their way in. Shutting the door behind themselves, they ranged in a semi-circle around him. He had a bad feeling about this.

“So, I hear you like to beat on little girls,” the one with bright blue eyes said. Fear bubbled up in Lew’s stomach. The thugs that followed the lead man were muscular and mean looking and glared at him balefully. He’d heard rumors about this actor, they all had. That he had links to the Mob, and that he wasn’t to be trifled with, that he associated with criminals and hoodlums in his spare time from singing and acting. 

He mumbled something, and the man stepped closer, right up in his face. “What, I can’t hear you?”

Lew shook his head. Fear filled his eyes; he shrank against the wall and hated himself for it.

This satisfied the man with the icy blue eyes. “You EVER touch Ginger again, and I. Will. Personally. Break. Your. Arms. And you will never, ever work again as an actor. Understand?” 

Lew nodded frantically. The man waited a moment longer, staring him down. Lew was the first to look away, ashamed and hung over and humiliated.

The two thugs stumped out the door, but the blue eyed man lingered a moment longer, “Don’t forget what I’ve said through your damn hangover, either.”

Lew nodded and slumped down to the floor. Frank Sinatra slammed the door behind him so hard that it rattled the walls. 

*************************

An hour later, Hermes got the phone call that everything was taken care of. He put in the call to Lela and let her know Ginger was safe. Just how safe, she didn’t need to know. Lew would never dare hurt her again.

*************************

March 11, 1935 - Monday

The familiar rehearsal stage felt like her home away from home. It was her safe place.

Set in a corner of one of the huge soundstages on the RKO lot, the walls had been built up around it and over it (though how they’d gotten that past the fire marshal she didn’t know or want to know), and the only entrance was through a locked door. It had its own bathroom and shower, and a small kitchenette, air conditioning and a scuffed hardwood dance floor that she’d sweated on rehearsing for hours. It had everything that they needed to be locked inside away from prying eyes, though Fred also insisted that the main door be locked, and a security guard posted outside. He took his privacy seriously. 

As always, Ginger was most appreciative of that privacy. It was refreshing to have a place where she and Fred didn’t have to hide their affections. Here, in the privacy of their own little world, they could dance and kiss and do what they liked, within reason. When Hal, their pianist, and Hermes, their dance collaborator were also here, it was barely more restrained but they at least made an effort. Hal and Hermes were the only two who knew that they were a couple, besides their close family members, who varied in their acceptance of the affair. Not only could they relax and have fun, but it was crucial for Fred to have a safe space to work out his dances. He was a perfectionist; he hated people to see things incomplete and imperfect. It was a great mark of his trust that he allowed Ginger, Hal, and Hermes to witness – and participate in, and help create – the unfinished dances. 

She and Fred had ran over a few rudimentary ideas of his for their three dances this morning without Hal or Hermes. Fred would have two solos. While Ginger felt a tinge of jealousy, just watching Fred dance pretty much cured her of it. He was simply amazing and deserved those solos. She herself was still learning tap, though at an astronomical rate. Maybe on one of the next movies she could get a solo dance. 

Fred was almost always right about the dances, but sometimes, like now, she wanted to knock him over the head for his other thoughts. He was still figuring out how the film industry worked; she’d made twenty three movies now and had a good idea how the execs at RKO thought. They’d been debating for an hour already, and Fred’s insecurities were driving her up the wall. Giving up dancing and talking, they retreated to their chairs for some water and snacks and more discussion. 

“Fred, Merian Cooper is NOT going to fire you.” 

Ginger had gotten a phone call from the Studio head, but Fred had endured an uncomfortable meeting with both Merian Cooper and Pandro Berman, the executive producer on their show. Cooper had watched them dance together on their last movie and been suspicious. The Studio head suspected that their two lead actors were having an affair, but they couldn’t prove it. An affair would put the studio at risk, and that would NOT be tolerated. So, they had phoned Ginger and invited Fred to a meeting. It had been embarrassing, infuriating and ultimately, futile on their part. Fred and Ginger were absolutely having an affair and had zero intentions of ending it any time soon.

Fred was worried that the executives would fire them both and that they’d never work again. Ginger wasn’t too worried. People were paying good money to see them act in love on screen and she felt secure that the business sense of the studio would outweigh any concerns that they had. As long as they kept their affair secret and out of the gossip rags, they were fairly safe to do as they pleased.  


“Fred, Marion is NOT going to fire you. In fact, I bet after he looks at the numbers for the opening weekend of “Roberta” last week, he’ll probably give you a raise.” Ginger sat in her chair and rubbed her forehead, rather tired this morning with his constant worry. She thumbed through her script and inserted the new rewrites that had been delivered by courier to her house early this morning.

“But what if they do?” he moaned, his large hazel eyes worried. He fidgeted in his directors-chair as if he couldn’t get comfortable.

“Well, then you can tap dance on the corner of Melrose and Gower and pan handle with your top hat.”

“Oh, now you’re making fun of my worries.” Fred grumbled. He draped a leg over the arm of his chair, crossed his arms and frowned at her.

“Oh baby, stop worrying. We are the only thing keeping RKO afloat financially,” She and her mother Lela had had this discussion over breakfast just this morning. She shrugged. “They can’t afford to get rid of us. And if either of us goes, there goes the chemistry. So, make the dances as romantic as you like. They won’t do anything.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Fred shuddered, “but you only had to talk to Cooper on the phone. I had to be in an office with them both!” 

What Fred didn’t tell Ginger is that the two studio executives had not only grilled him on his rumored current affair with Ginger, but that they had asked him about their previous relationship. They’d met, dated and been lovers for eight months in NYC, until she left for Hollywood. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but trust the studio to dig up dirt, or what they considered to be dirt. Cooper and Berman had warned Fred that they were considering starting a publicity rumor that the dancers didn’t get along to specifically thwart any rumors that they got along too well. Fred had gone ballistic, but they hadn’t budged. 

They had not asked Ginger about any of that. They had just asked if Fred was taking advantage of her. To which she had firmly replied both “no” and “mind your own business” in the politest way.  


“I think they’re going to start a rumor that we don’t like each other and can’t stand to work together.” He put it out there cautiously, waiting for the blowup.

Instead, she surprised him, her face thoughtful. “Hmmm… I suppose that would work, I guess. But anyone with eyes can see it’s not true at all and everyone on the lot would know that’s a load of bunk.”

“Yeah. I suppose so. And I do like dancing with you, I’ll never deny that” he fluttered his eyes at her and took her hand. She allowed it and he kissed it several times. Unable to keep a straight face, she gave up and snatched her hand back, giggling. 

She left her chair and trapped him in his, one hand on either side of his chair. “Mr. A, I do believe I enjoy dancing with you, too.” 

She leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips. As he went to pull her closer, though, she saw the clock on the rehearsal room wall over his shoulder. She flinched backwards.

“Oh my god, is that the time?” Throwing her tap shoes and other things into her duffle bag, she stomped into her boots. “Fred, I have a meeting with the wardrobe people in five minutes! Want to come along?”

The last time Fred had come along to a wardrobe fitting, he’d ended up seeing Ginger drop her drawers in front of five people. She’d been so excited to get into the new dress that she’d stripped right in the middle of the wardrobe staging area in order to try on the “Continental” dress. He certainly had no objections to seeing her naked or modeling some gorgeous creation by the designer, then or now. “Well, they do say history repeats itself!”

“Oh, poor baby, I’m not trying anything on today, at least not that I know of!” she teased. “Come along anyway. We can get some lunch and visit the sets afterwards and rehearse some more this afternoon.”

Wrapping their coats tightly against the unpredictable blustery wind, they battled through big, cold rain drops to the Wardrobe Building. One of her very favorite people in the business was meeting her today – the dress designer Bernard Newman. He had designed the outfits and dresses for “Roberta” to rave reviews, especially the black silk dress that she’d danced in for “Lovely to Look At”. He promised her that he had even better ideas in store for her for this movie. She couldn’t wait to see the designs they’d collaborated on over the phone two weeks ago. He was supposed to have some designs sketched out for her to peruse.

At least she wouldn’t have to try anything on today. The bruises on her arms were faded to an ugly brown, but there was no sense in advertising them. Anyone who saw them would know what they were. Thankfully, the weather was cool and rainy most of these spring days, and long sleeve shirts were the obvious choice. Fred didn’t have a clue and she’d forbidden Hermes to say anything.

*************************************

Bernard Newman was one of Hollywood’s greatest Costume Designers. As such on their last movie, “Roberta”, he had created a whole bunch of amazing dresses, both for herself and a whole slew of background extras for a Fashion Show extraordinaire, including her new friend Lucy Ball. That Newman would even consider letting her collaborate with him was amazing. However, if she couldn’t dance in a dress, it didn’t matter how pretty it was, it couldn’t be used. Her job was to dance and his was to make her look good while doing it. Their collaborative process worked well for both of them.

As she and Fred jogged up the steps to the Wardrobe Department entrance, she pulled open the heavy door and was greeted by the familiar scents. The particular smell of hundreds of bolts of cloth, hot oily sewing machines and the scent of a dozen people working in close proximity in a controlled environment had its own aroma. It always sent a thrill through her. It smelled like glamour and beauty, if those things had a scent.

Marie Ree, the Head Cutter-Fitter, scurried to meet them after they rang the bell in the entry way.

“Ginger! Hello!” the petite dark haired lady pulled her into a polite hug and air-kissed her cheeks. “And Fred, what a pleasant surprise!”

Marie’s job was to make the designer’s costume sketch come to life. She had helped make a dozen dresses and outfits for Ginger so far, and loved getting to dress the actress. Ginger didn’t make a big deal out of it like some other actresses, but her measurements were divine, and she looked good in nearly anything. It was a pleasure to dress her. 

They seldom got to dress Fred. His wardrobe usually came from Savile Row. His wool crepe tuxedos and suits were made by Anderson & Sheppard Ltd, a shop in London, or from his personal tailor in Beverly Hills, where he preferred suits made from vicuna cashmere wool, the world’s most expensive wool. Making his suits and tuxedos the way he liked were not in the films wardrobe budget. He had worn a studio-made suit exactly once – and afterwards, had the clause put in his contract that he would supply his own at his own expense. The wardrobe department was just as happy not to have to dress him, with his fussy, exacting requirements and expensive tastes.

“Come this way, come this way!” Marie gestured for them to follow her. Bolts of fabric lined the walls and shelves and tall cabinets held of every type of fiber art accoutrements and accessories imaginable. There were no windows in the building, to protect the precious fabrics from sunlight, and it gave the building a slightly claustrophobic feeling, as well as muffling sound. Fred found Ginger’s hand as they followed Marie into the depths of the building. 

Bernard was frowning at a handful of papers in his hands when the trio appeared. Tossing down his reading glasses on the enormous roll-top desk, he rose and warmly greeted the two actors.

“Hello! Nice to see you again,” he said, shaking their hands vigorously. Gesturing them to take seats, he rummaged around in the mess of papers and books on his desk and pulled a large binder from the stack. “Now, Ginger, the new designer, Edward Stevenson, is a wonderful sketch artist and we’ve thrown together some ideas for you. Take a look at these and let me know what you think.”

Ginger accepted the heavy binder with a grunt. Fully two inches thick, page after page of designs revealed themselves, each more lavish than the last. She sat in a hard wooden chair, mesmerized. Fred hovered over her shoulder as they thumbed through the pictures. 

Edward had labeled the dresses and outfits according to either the dance or the scene. Ginger made note of which ones she wanted to pursue and which she was going to pass on for now. She required a dress that both made her look good AND allowed her to move well for the dance. She considered her wardrobe as part of the story telling; sometimes it was superfluous, and sometimes it got a message across. She chose the designs accordingly. She loved the riding outfit. She hadn’t gotten to wear a styled almost-suit before in a dance, and it was something new. It showed off more of her legs than some of the dresses she’d worn, and she hoped Fred would like it. A love of quality clothing and fashion was something that she and Fred had in common. Fred pointed out various things that he liked, but he was far less invested in the process than Ginger was. After thumbing through the binder, she removed two dozen sketches and handed those to Bernard. 

“I’d like to talk more about these designs! I love every one of them.” Fashion interested her keenly. Even as a teen, she’d had a good eye for what worked and what didn’t. Getting to work with master designers had honed that skill. 

Bernard thumbed through the pages. “I like your choices here. We’ll get to work on finding fabric and sending you some samples. By the way, what color would you choose for the special dress?”  


Ginger looked up sharply and shook her head slightly. 

Marie hastily redirected the conversation. “What does your schedule look like next week? I will have some rudimentary designs on a couple of these by then, and we can make more decisions on the rest of the designs then and talk about fabrics and shoes.”

“I would have to look but I’m sure Fred here won’t mind if I run over here for an hour or so during rehearsal, will you?” She looked at him for confirmation and he nodded. 

He had a feeling that he’d just missed something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. He didn’t particularly care what she wore as long as she could dance in it. That she would look good in it didn’t even need to be discussed. Of course, she would. 

“Fine, we will give you a call and make arrangements.” Bernard was well pleased with the short meeting. He was even more pleased to be collaborating on a dress with the actress-dancer. It would be her first design and she was enthusiastic about the entire process. She’d already told Bernard that she wanted to surprise Fred, and he inwardly kicked himself for forgetting the secret. He stood back up and shook their hands again. Marie led them back outside and into the spring weather, which had turned gray and threatening.

“It was lovely to see you both again. Goodbye!” She shooed them out and shut the heavy door. It felt a little bit like being banished from the kingdom. 

Ginger couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. This was going to be a wonderful movie – as far as wardrobe went. After thumbing through the script, she was warming to it. Initially it felt like a re-run of “The Gay Divorcee” plot line – full of mistaken identities and absurd conversations that could have fixed the plot with one logical question, but it was fluff. However, it was so much BIGGER fluff. Everything was bigger – the wardrobe, the sets, the music. It was both thrilling and intimidating to know that RKO believed in them enough to pull out all the stops on this movie. 

She took Fred’s arm as they hurried to the commissary to grab some lunch. Huddled into their coats and hoods against the light rainy drizzle, they weren’t conspicuous. If they were recognized, no one bothered them. Arriving a few minutes later, the ordered some lunch to go. They considered eating their sandwiches as they walked to the sets, but it was too wet. They ended up quickly eating on their rehearsal stage, anxious to get a look at the new sets. The script gave them tantalizing clues about what promised to be spectacular pieces of art.

There were a couple other films currently being shot on the small lot, but the first three soundstages had been cleared for “Top Hat”. The first stage was a smaller stage and they peeked inside the tall, open stage door. With production due to begin shooting in just two weeks, carpenters and painters labored on a couple of the smaller sets that they would use first – the Thackeray Club, a green screen area to shoot the horse and cab scene, and the gazebo where they would film the song and dance “Isn’t It A Lovely Day” (to Be Caught in the Rain). 

Fred took her hand. “Come on! Let’s try it out!” 

With a devil-may-care grin, he dragged her up the steps into the half built gazebo. It was going to be set “outside” and the greens were no where to be seen yet, but the rain ring had been built surrounding it for the rain, up in the rafters, and the floor was solid. It wasn’t painted at all, the lumber still smelled new, but the general idea was simple to see. They’d already been hard at work on this dance scene, and the number was memorized. 

“Alright, go Freddie!” she said. He stepped next to her, and she mimicked him. When he challenged her to a dance off, she followed right behind him. She had to laugh, though, when Fred very obviously checked out her butt in her rehearsal slacks. She swatted him on the shoulder. “Oh, stop that now.”

They danced in unison across the gazebo stage, clapping and giggling, and delighting in the tempo changes. There was no paint on the floor nor taps on their shoes, so the raw wood captured their steps, but not the appropriate sound. In fact, the taps would most likely be added in post-production, as they were going to have three main sounds to contend with – the taps, the music, and the rain. Getting it all in one shot would be impossible. However, that meant that they could talk discretely as much as they liked during the actual dance. Fred loved to whisper things to her as they danced, and make noisy vocalizations. They were the cause of much of the postproduction sound work. Today, however, it was just them on the empty, echoing sound stage, so they didn’t try to muzzle themselves. Their happy laughter echoed until Ginger tripped over Fred’s shoe on the fast, swinging portion of the dance. She tumbled to the floor, still laughing and yanked Fred down beside her. A hooting and hollering and clapping surprised them. 

They had no idea how long they’d had an audience. A group of surprised carpenters, painters and electricians gave them an unexpected ovation. 

Sitting up, they waved to the hard working building crew. “Thanks!”

Side by side, he bumped her shoulder. Quietly, he said, “Good thing I didn’t kiss you then!”

“Since when is that a good thing?” she replied, equally quiet. “And I still have to show you my new dressing room.”

Fred threw back his head and laughed. “Well, let’s get the other sets visited and check it out!”

Pulling on their coats, they hurried to the next stage. 

Here they found all the various hotel rooms and lobbies and hallways under construction. Nothing was decorated yet, but the walls were all in and the main sets were finished and currently being painted. It was an irony of a black and white film that the sets were lavishly decorated, but it carried across on film as texture, so it was invaluable. They walked into the mostly white two room Bridal Suite. Fred whistled.

“I’ve never been in a hotel room so big,” he observed. The suite was enormous, with a king size bed on a raised platform area behind gauzy curtains. He waggled his eyebrows at her and patted the bed suggestively. “We should sneak in here some time…”

“Don’t say that loudly! We didn’t know the carpenters were so close on the other set, there may be people here, too.” She blushed but the idea did have a lot of appeal. In fact, Fred almost made it sound like a challenge. 

He watched her narrow her eyes. “Are you actually considering it?”

She gave him a saucy look over her shoulder as she walked towards the exit, “And you weren’t?”

She chuckled as she heard his steps behind her catching up.

Together they walked towards the final soundstage. The big doors were not open, so they had to use the side door, but once inside, they both gasped simultaneously. 

The soundstage was the biggest on the RKO lot. Before them lay “Venice”, from a certain point of view. The carpenters had made headway on the sets, but they were unfinished. However, it was easy to see the basic design. A broad canal wove through the set, lined with black plastic. It would eventually hold water and actual gondola boats and gondoliers. Two arched bridges crossed the canal, and led to broad avenues lining either side, and a huge empty spot that would eventually be a dance floor in the middle. It would be for the large group dances and their “Piccolino” duet dance. They could see at least three balconies and walkways on a second floor. In awe, they walked around, careful to avoid construction work, stacks of new lumber, buckets of nails and electric work light stands. Around the corner, they came to the stairway that led up to the bridge that opened up onto the second large dance floor, for the “Cheek to Cheek” number. 

“Shall we?” Ginger asked, eyeing the second story dance floor. It even had its own doors to a balcony at the back of the set. 

“Oh, now you want to try out a set.” Fred pouted, but of course he didn’t really mean it. 

Giggling like school children, they ran up the stairs to the bridge and crossed into the dance floor. Peaking over the edge, they could see that it was about 20 feet to the soundstage floor.

“Hey, you up there!” A loud, angry voice interrupted their gawking, “You can’t be up there!”

A burly man wearing a leather work belt stood glowering a them, his hands on his hips. He gestured imperiously for them to get out. 

“The exit is that way!”

Fred tried to reason with him. “But we’re….” 

“I don’t care who you are. If you get hurt fooling around on my stages while they’re being built, it’s my butt that’s getting fired. GET OUT!”

Fred clammed up and took Ginger’s hand, pulling her along behind him until they were outside and safe from his glare. “Wow, we just got kicked off our own stages.” 

She didn’t even try to hold in her laughter, now that they were outside, “Well, he is right.”

He reluctantly agreed. 

“However,” she continued, running a hand up and down his jacket collar, “I know a place where you’ll never get kicked out…”

“Oh yeah, we were going to see your new digs, weren’t we?” As if he'd forget something like that.

**************************

Fumbling for her key, she unlocked the door and they hurried in out of the rain. Hanging up their wet coats, she made sure to lock the door behind them. The dressing room was spacious, and Fred looked around with interest. His own room was much less lavish. Ginger’s had four rooms – an entry way/living room, a kitchen nook, and a dressing room/bedroom with an enormous bathroom in the back. Obviously these last two rooms were designed so Ginger could have her wardrobe and makeup done in this room for whatever movie she was currently working on. Peeking out the window lined with security bars, it looked out of the studio westward onto Gower street, and internally, the door faced their own Stage 2. Fred immediately saw the possibilities. 

It was chilly inside. Ginger turned up the heat and heard the new radiator click on. Immediately she could feel a difference in the temperature of the metal. Warming her cold hands over the radiator, she started a bit when Fred’s arms wrapped around her waist. 

“Hey baby,” he whispered, leaning into her, and kissing her behind the ear, just where she was ticklish.

She leaned back into his strong arms and let him have his way with her neck. “Hey old man.”

He slowly started to sway, taking her with him. “These dances are going to be the most romantic things ever seen on film.” 

“I think you’ve already managed that,” she replied as he turned her around and put her in a waltz. Moving with tiny steps around the dressing room, they conversed as easily as they danced. “I think “Night and Day” and “Smoke” were pretty damn romantic.”

“True,” he replied immodestly. “But I think “Cheek to Cheek” is going to match them in greatness.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder and breathed in his scent. “You know, things aren’t perfect, but this is damn nice all the same.”

“Did you lock the door?”

“Of course.”

“Wanna know something else that’s damn nice?”

She liked his silly moods. It wasn’t often that he let this side of himself out to play. She was deeply gratified that he could be his most authentic self with her. He was nowhere near as serious as most people thought he was. 

“What’s damn nice?”

“You.” He looked pleased as punch with his romantic goofiness and she let him walk her back to the bed in perfect waltz steps. Along the way, she hit the lights. Darkness enveloped the room, enough so that the healing bruises on her arms would not be visible.

“Oh,” she purred, “You think so? Well, I guess you’ll have to find out.”

His whole face lit up with joy as he began to undo the buttons down her rehearsal blouse.


	2. Two Peas In A Pod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RKO, the little studio that could, is over the moon about it's new film "Top Hat". For it's stars, it's both the most challenging and rewarding experience yet. 
> 
> "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." ~ Emily Bronte 
> 
> *************************************

“Mr. A., they’re ready for you now.” An Assistant Director knocked on the door frame of his open dressing room door. Smoothing down his dress suit, he followed her out to the lit set. 

The first scene in the movie was going to be an easy one. The Thackeray Gentleman’s Club set was basically a rectangular room with a hallway and coat check outside. Fred was glad that it wasn’t going to be a stressful scene; he was tired, and he’d tossed and turned in bed all night worrying. He and Ginger and Hermes were working like dogs getting the first dances completed – first up would be his dance with Ginger in the gazebo, “It’s It A Lovely Day”, followed by his dance solo, “No Strings”. The twelve hours a day dancing was hard work, but it was shaping up nicely.

He was absolutely astonished in how Ginger was progressing in learning tap basics and the dance. He wanted to strike while the iron was hot and get it on film before the four month long scheduled shoot resulted in exhaustion for her, though at twenty three years old, she seemed tireless a great deal of the time. The rest of the sets were more dance-oriented, and he knew they could do them in their sleep if necessary, but the tap dance worried him. She was good, astonishingly good, but he wanted it in the can as soon as possible so he could stop worrying about that particular dance and worry about the Piccolino dance, with its one hundred or so background extra dancers. Not to mention that one of his own dances would be shooting in two weeks and he had to work on that also.  


He strolled through the soundstage, and took a seat in the Club set, sinking into the soft green velvet chair. Picking up the prop newspaper he’d used in that scene already, he snapped it up and blocked out everything from his vision. No one would disturb him now while he waited for Mark to get things rolling. 

Fred’s eyes followed the newspaper down as the finger pushing it revealed his co-star, Edward Everette Horton. 

“Fred how are you today,” Edward sat on the arm of Fred’s chair and deftly snatched the paper out of his hands. Ed was a decade older than him, with a headful of slicked back black hair and a peculiar manner of speaking that he liked to affect. Like Fred, he’d started off in vaudeville, then Broadway and he’d been in Hollywood working primarily as a character actor for a dozen years. He folded the paper up, effectively taking away Fred’s hiding spot. 

“Hi Ed, all’s fine. And you?” He truly was fine now that he was at work, where he felt most comfortable. No way was he going to tell his co-stars, no matter how much he liked them, about his personal issues. 

“Oh, everything is good, good, good,” he nodded several times and tucked his hands into his pockets, “and I’m looking forward to your dances. Though, I certainly hope you don’t talk the writers into giving me one on this movie.”

Ed shuddered. He’d had a horrible song and dance on “The Gay Divorcee” that he had never forgiven Fred and the writers for putting in there. It had been humiliating. Though, getting to dance with little Betty Grable had been rather nice. She was just a kid, though, and he though it all rather indecent. 

Fred chuckled. “No, no, you’re safe. Have you seen Eric yet?”

Eric Blore was their co-star and the actor that Ed played against so beautifully. Their comedic timing was perfect and frequently made the crew laugh, resulting in multiple takes. 

“Oh, I don’t think he’s here yet, but Helen is around here somewhere. I think she was heading to a wardrobe fitting or something like that.” 

Helen Broderick and Fred where old friends. They had met on Broadway, when she’d worked with both Fred and Adele on their show, “The Bandwagon”, for all 260 performances. She’d also gotten her start doing vaudeville shows. It gave them all an easy confidence in each other’s abilities and comedic timing.

“Oh, great, I can’t wait to say hello,” Fred’s smile got wider. Helen was a lot of fun. The casting director, their regular Director Mark Sandrich and Fred had cast a whole lot of people that he had worked with in the past. He liked to work with the same actors – they all got to know one another, and it felt like family. He hoped that he could bring them onto some of the other films he was contracted to make with Ginger and RKO.

Director Mark Sandrich could be heard yelling in the back of the set, ushering crew to their places after he snagged his third cup of coffee. 

“Oh, it looks like we’re going,” Ed said, and went quickly to his starting mark. Fred took his place and hoped that Ginger was enjoying her partial day off. 

**********************

The day was only halfway through, and Ginger was tired but happy. Not only had she put in four hours hard dancing rehearsal and endurance training with Hermes this morning (and ran four miles around the lot), but she also now had an appointment at the Wardrobe department and then she was scheduled for an interview with a magazine and a few hours with the Publicity department, taking stills of her in the riding costume. It was looking like it would be a long day. 

She quickly jogged up the steps to the Wardrobe building and swung open the heavy door. Since no one answered the bell, she let herself in and made her way to the back. Hearing conversation, she found Bernard, Marie and a frazzled looking assistant fitting another actress. 

“That pin does most definitely NOT go there”, the woman exclaimed loudly. Putting her hands on her hips, she glowered at the wardrobe assistant.

“Then hold still and stop moving,” the assistant begged and glowered right back at her. Marie, the Lead Cutter-Fitter, tried to hide her smile and hovered behind the assistant, ready to give a helping hand.

Not wanting to interrupt, Ginger leaned against the wall and watched. 

Marie noticed her as she walked around the other woman, judging the hem length. “Oh, hi, sweetie. We’re running a smidge late. Why don’t you take a seat?”

“Give us a few minutes here, and we’ll get to your fitting next,” Bernard, the Head RKO Costume Designer, added from his desk.

“Oh, hello again, Ginger dear,” Helen said with a heavy sigh, as she held her arms out for the assistant to snip some errant threads. She did refrain from turning around though, reluctant to get stuck with pins again. “Come to get poked and prodded, too?”

They’d met at the table read and Ginger had taken an instant liking to the older woman. 

“Oh, I suppose so,” she replied. She needed to talk with Bernard and see what fabrics he’d chosen for the dress. She was looking forward to the riding outfit but even more so to seeing how her special dress was coming along. Helen’s dress, however, was a gorgeous navy blue silk dress with a sparkly hip ruffle and matching sleeves and a low dipping neckline. Helen looked great in it, and they were debating which sparkly gems to add to the neckline. Ginger spied two triangular clip type brooches and reached in for them. Holding them up, she looked between them and the dress. 

Bernard watched her out of the corner of his eye. He had been poised to grab those clips, too. “I think Ginger’s got the right of it here. Try these.”

“You know, Ginger, your fashion sense is right on the money,” he continued, flattering the young woman. “But let’s get to your gown! I’ve chosen this blue silk. What do you think?”

With some trepidation, she watched as Bernard grabbed a bolt of fabric from the shelf behind his desk. It was a baby blue and matched her eyes perfectly. The silky fabric flowed through her fingers like water. It was delightful and exactly what she’d been hoping for.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Helen commented, dressing back into her own clothes as the assistant gathered up the dress. “I’m jealous.”

Bernard laughed in delight and beckoned the two actresses over to where Marie was holding a binder. “Come see the design!” 

Ginger and Helen both crowded over to see. A thrill went through Ginger’s gut. She couldn’t believe that something SHE had dreamed up was going to be created by this master designer. 

“Oh, I like it,” Helen commented, tracing the design with her finger, “and you have the figure to pull it off. What are these fluffy things?”

“Those are ostrich feathers, dyed a lighter blue. See, here is a sample of one of them. We have hundreds.” Marie reached over and pulled a feather out of a plastic bag on Bernard’s desk. “We’ll be sewing them to the dress in the next week or two.”

“Oh, this is beautiful! Bernard, you do such good work,” Helen said, nodding enthusiastically.

“This is not my design, Ms. Broderick,” he said, bowing graciously to Ginger, “It is hers.” 

Ginger flushed in pleasure at the praise.

“Why, Ginger! I didn’t know that you dabbled in fashion!” Helen looked at her with new appreciation. “This is lovely.”

“Thank you. I think it’ll be wonderful to dance in.”

“Meanwhile, we will be sewing this up, but we have the riding outfit for you to try on today.” Bernard gestured towards a collection of clothing that his assistant was bringing out. 

Helen, all dressed again in her demure street clothes, bumped Ginger with her elbow. “You’re gonna wow them with that dress, sweetheart. You’ll look like an angel. Can’t wait to see it!”  


Grinning happily and dreaming of her blue ostrich feather dress, she obediently tried on the riding outfit instead, and wondered what Fred would think of it. 

********************************

Ginger couldn’t imagine a more beautiful day to ride. She also couldn’t imagine a more beautiful horse to be riding. The Standardbred horse was a full sixteen hands tall, a large beast, with a deep chest and slim physique, five years old and nearly perfect in Ginger’s opinion. Apparently, Mark Sandrich disagreed. 

“That’s a lot of horse! If I’d have known this was the one you would be riding, I’d have gotten something else,” he grumbled. Looking from his diminutive actress to the huge horse, he shook his head doubtfully. Ginger’s shoulders were barely the same height as the horses back. 

“I can ride him,” Ginger insisted, putting her hands on her hips, and adding her best frown. When Mark had suggested that they hire a last minute stunt person or even a jockey to take the ride down the bridal path, she’d sparked right up and insisted on doing it herself. Besides, she already was in the appropriate wardrobe. 

Beside her, Fred nodded and put in his two cents worth. “She can ride, Mark! Let her do it.”

“Fine. We’ll see how it goes.” The director stomped back towards the camera, grumbling under his breath about subterfuge and actresses with opinions. 

Ginger, while annoyed that Mark had listened to Fred and not to her, didn’t waste any time being angry. The groom gestured to her to come over. She approached the tall horse, who turned to sniff at her, stamping his feet restlessly. She ran her hands over his soft nose. 

“Wow, you are one gorgeous beast,” she whispered. 

“Thank you,” Fred whispered back, right behind her. 

“Oh, shut up, Fred,” she cackled, shoving her elbow into his ribs. “Give me a hand up.”

Ginger lightly stepped into Fred’s hands and he heaved her up into the air. Tossing her leg over the horse’s back, she settled into the sleek black English saddle. Under her thighs, the huge warm animal danced to feel a rider on his back and the saddle leathers creaked as she shifted and found the stirrups. He seemed poised to burst into action the moment she allowed it. She gathered the reins and held him firmly, while the men moved back out of the way. 

Along the fence, a sigh arose from the three dozen people who had been attracted by the film company setting up shop in the middle of Griffith Park. Getting to see Ginger Rogers on location was definitely something they didn’t see every day. Getting to see Fred Astaire in casual clothes watching the scene was a bonus. Getting to see Ginger Rogers riding a magnificent horse was over the top.  


She took some time to get used to the horse, and vice versa. She clicked to him, and together they stepped out and then into a trot. His pace ate up the ground and in a moment they were far down the path. Turning off the path, she kicked him up to a canter and paced the fence line. Wheeling him around, she kicked him up to a fast canter, just shy of a gallop. His hooves on the grass sounded like thunder. Returning to the path, she could see the small figure of Fred in the distance, with his hand over his mouth and his eyes bugging out. Breaking out in a smile, she let the animal trot back to the waiting group, enjoying his easy rocking motion.

Fred did think that she could ride the beast, but she was going very fast on a very large animal and his stomach roiled in response. This splendid animal was much more spirited than Lucky, the placid quarter horse that he’d gifted to her at Christmas. His heart was in his throat as it shied at a gust of wind and stepped sideways unexpectedly. Ginger didn’t hesitate, and moved right with him, her strong legs wrapped around its belly. Knowing how strong her legs were eased his worry a tiny bit. It also made him think of those strong legs wrapped around his own hips, and he had to clamp down on that thought. He allowed a smile to blossom on his face instead. These two gorgeous creatures were a joy to watch together. 

Finally, to the cheering of the audience of observers, Ginger brought the horse back over to the groom. Sliding off with an economy of motion and sticking the landing, she walked towards the huddle of film makers.

Fred stood next to Mark and the camera crew and couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Mark’s mouth had fallen open in surprise at the unexpected horsemanship skills of his lead actress. He leaned over and said, “Told you so.”

Mark frowned at him but addressed Ginger. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You can ride. Let me make sure we’re all ready to go and let’s get this thing done.”

He turned away quickly, and Ginger’s smile of triumph sagged a little bit. For some reason, Mark Sandrich didn’t give her nearly the same amount of praise he gave Fred. It was a continual thing between them, for reasons completely mysterious to her, and she tried to ignore the little nugget of disappointment. 

“You were marvelous, Ginge!” Fred gushed as he took both her hands in his. 

Shrugging off Mark’s lukewarm attitude, she appreciated his support. They didn’t have long to wait though, as Mark immediately called for everyone to get to work. Ginger again mounted the horse and took him to the far end of the path. She was to ride down the path the first time, then stop and observe the “rain clouds” and get the horse moving towards the bandstand. The bandstand was actually on the soundstage at RKO. It would be interesting to actually ride the horse onto the soundstage before the dance sequence and into the “rain” from the hoses and nozzles around the set. For now, though, she focused on riding the path. Mark called action and she took off. 

After three takes of each, Mark yelled that they’d wrapped this sequence and the audience groaned in disappointment. Since they wouldn’t be needed at the studio for another couple of hours, Ginger leaned over to Fred. 

“Hey, wanna go give autographs?” She loved pleasing the fans, and basking in their adoration. She considered it one of the perks of the job. 

Fred considered it a pain in the ass. “I’d rather have my teeth pulled but okay.”

Plastering his polite smile back on to his face, he joined Ginger in signing autographs for everyone who wanted one. Afterwards, the RKO Publicity department showed up in time to take photographs of Ginger and the horse together. Fred thought they both looked splendid. He was definitely going to own a whole bunch of horses someday. Maybe he’d even let Ginger ride them. Maybe.

**************************

Later that afternoon, they again all came back together to film the horse sequences leading up to the dance. Ginger had only to ride the horse along the bandstand and tie him to a bush in the “rain”, but poor Fred had to manage a much moodier horse and a hansom cab into the set. Ginger’s bit of riding took only two takes, but Fred’s took four. By the time they wrapped the horses out, he was more than ready to get to the dancing. 

“On Broadway, I didn’t have to work with animals,” he groused. 

“Oh, Fred, stop moaning about it,” she added, appreciating Adele’s nickname for her frequently distressed little brother, ‘ Moaning Minnie’. “Shake it off and let’s get on with it.”

Fred managed to mope for about another five seconds before his co-star’s good humor rubbed off on him. “Yeah, you’re right. At least it’s over.”

Actually, the horse and hansom cab part of the scene was the least of his worries. He was trying really hard not to let his dancing partner see how worried he was about this scene. The tap would be at the limit of her skills, which were growing exponentially, and he wanted to get this dance completed as quickly as possible. 

As the grooms removed the horses and the set decorating department set everything to right, they move to take their places on the band stand. 

The first part of the dance, where they discuss the fluffy and clumsy little clouds was a quick shoot. Fred couldn’t see Ginger’s face, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders and how she began swaying in time to his song that she was acting perfectly and that they were killing it in this scene. As their first dance in the movie, it was imperative that they begin to move the characters from antagonism towards attraction. He was pretty sure their “chemistry” as the producers had called it, was popping from the screen. What a laugh. He couldn’t not be attracted to Ginger and vice versa, especially when given the filming go-ahead to act romantic towards her. This wasn’t work; this was play. He completed his song, and they cut so that the cameras reset for the actual dance. Their stand ins, Harry Cornbleth and Marie Osborne took their places, and the actors stepped off stage.

“Are you nervous?” Fred asked, sipping on a cup of water, and leaning against the soundstage wall. 

Ginger shook her head. This wasn’t anything to be nervous about. This was exciting. Nah, once she had it memorized, she there was nowhere else in the world that she’d rather be than in his arms, dancing on air and sometimes flying through it when he twirled and lifted her in his strong arms. “I can’t wait.”

Fred appreciated her willingness to dance anything he created. However, this dance would be the most challenging one for her because it was all tap. She had pulled off the tricky moves half a hundred times and he sure hoped that she could do it on film today. Otherwise, it was going to be a very long day. He crossed his fingers as they mounted the steps to the gazebo for their dance.

Taking their seats at the bench, he dared to rub circles on her back. She leaned into it almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for him to notice. After a few seconds, Mark rolled film and the record player began. All the taps and music would be editing in post.

Fred, as Jerry, began his solo section of the dance, flirting and trying to win over Ginger’s character, Dale. Ambling around the gazebo, he whistled the jaunty tune. As he passed her, Dale surprises him by whistling the next verse. Turning his back on her, Jerry is surprised to look behind him and see Dale mirroring his moves. Turning together, he let Ginger get a half step ahead of him so that he could very deliberately check out her butt in the riding pants. It was something he did every day about her rehearsal slacks. It didn’t happen in their films, though, because she was nearly always in dresses. As something new, he wanted to toss it in an homage to their daily routine. Besides, it made him giggle and would likely do the same for the audience. 

Now the dance began in earnest. Mirroring each other’s moves, they challenged each other by imitation. The courtship continued, drawing Dale deeper into Jerry’s romance. Challenging, playfully upping the ante, and spiraling faster around the stage, delighting in one another, Fred forgot about acting and everyone else in the room. Ginger’s twinkling blue eyes and slim, athletic body were the only things real to him right now, the only things that mattered. They faced each other, mirroring perfectly, dancing for one another. The loud crack of “thunder” interrupted their flirting. Imitating each other again, their flirtatious dragged steps pursing each other came next and this part concluded in an explosion of tap, in unison. 

As the tempo of the music picked up, he finally got to touch her. Opening her arms to him in invitation, he swooped in and pulled her tightly against him; they became a swirl of momentum and passion as they circled the dance floor. This intertwining of their legs and hips was a typical dance move, but it felt shameless and unabashedly sexual without the folds of a dress obscuring their intimacy. It was provocative and Fred reveled in it as he pirouetted them around the floor. They came apart in a twirl around each other’s shoulders, ending the dance in a long stepping strides, jumping down off the gazebo in one step and back up. Ending up sitting on the stage, Fred shook Ginger’s hand. As the camera’s cut, he couldn’t conceal his utter delight in her abilities. He kissed her hand, and then helped her to her feet.

“Darling, that was magnificent!” he gushed quietly as they walked to the craft service table for water. He didn’t let go of her hand, running his thumb gently over her knuckles.

“It won’t be enough for Mark, though,” she laughed, her face flushed. “I bet we’ll go another half dozen times.”

“Half dozen, huh?” Fred considered, “I bet four. Winner buys dinner?”

“You’re on!” 

***********************************

Lela Rogers sat in a director’s chair in a shadowed area of the soundstage besides Hermes. He had taken a break from working with the background dancers on the other stage to come see this dance. She hadn’t told her daughter that she’d be coming by to watch today because she hadn’t known herself. She’d just gotten a break in her schedule and popped in to watch. It always gave her such a thrill to see her little girl act or dance like this. She was thrilled that she could keep up with Fred, who was one of the best dancers of his day. Ginger had always been on the move. Even when she was pregnant with her, those little feet had tapped their way along her belly for months. Once she learned to walk, at nine months old, there had been no holding her back. As a little girl, she was endlessly curious and constantly on the move. Watching that wild energy tamed into productive structure and design was satisfying to see.  


She could also see that the flirting between the two actors did not stop at the dance. Watching her daughter walk off stage hand in hand with Fred made her frown. Turning to Hermes, she gestured towards the two. “What is it with these two, Hermes? Why are they like this? Why can’t they just let it go?”

Hermes closed his eyes in frustration. Since Lela’s eyes were glued to the dance partner’s receding figures, she didn’t see it. Usually, he deflected questions or quelled them with a well-placed glare, but this was Ginger’s ma, and maybe he could set her mind at ease. He looked over at Fred and Ginger, laughing together while picking at cookies on the craft service table, still holding hands, oblivious to anything but one another. 

“Two peas in a pod,” he answered, “they’re actually very much alike. They share the same love of dance and music and have the same hard work ethic, which makes their dancing partnership so successful. Beyond that? They just simply like each other. They are kind of like co-conspirators much of the time, looking for adventures and fun together. Like I said, two peas in a pod.”

Lela could see that. Her eyes narrowed as she thought. “I know in New York, when he’d come by our apartment, that his interest in Ginger wasn’t platonic. But he was sweet and I allowed it. But now, he’s still glued to her side despite being married and she can’t let him go, either. So you’re saying that this affair, it’s an adventure, complete with danger and rewards, isn’t it?”

“Now you’ve hit the nail on the head, I think,” Hermes rubbed his chin, considering her words. “Sometimes I think… if they got married, like they want to, it wouldn’t last.”

“The challenge wouldn’t be there, you mean?” she asked. 

“Exactly.” Hermes paused, “They really do love one another, but it’s also a game. A game of hearts.”

“Huh.” Perversely, hearing Hermes state this soothed her concerns. Maybe this would all blow over eventually when they got bored with one another. She just hoped that her little girl wouldn’t end up with a broken heart. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt and looked at her watch. Her novice actresses should be arriving at the theater soon, and she had classes to teach. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she said, “Thanks, Hermes.”

Hermes wasn’t sure that he should be thanked but answered “You’re welcome. See you at the next dance?”

“Yes, of course!” she said, “But please, don’t tell Ginger that I stopped by today. I want to think about what you said.”

With that, she crept off the set, just as Fred and Ginger were called back for another take. 

*****************************

They ended up shooting the scene in full another five times, so neither actually won their bet. Ordering food from a local restaurant, they had it delivered to her dressing room, even though it was going on ten o’clock at night. 

Fred paid the delivery boy and tried not to let the screen door slam. It had an awful squeak to it, and it was grating on his nerves. He’d have to remember to get some oil and fix it for her. He set the meal down on the coffee table and toed off his shoes. Tucking his legs under him on the couch, he sat cross legged and balanced his to-go container on his lap. Ginger sat next to him but ate her meal at the table. 

“This is so good,” Ginger groaned as she scooped up another forkful of the quickly dwindling pile of fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken. “They do good work.”

Fred agreed, as he shoveled in more of his Club sandwich and fries. He was starving. They’d put in a long day and his energy was flagging. He eyed her pasta, but found it too filling, usually.  
“Want a taste?” She pointed the loaded fork in his direction. He let her put it in his mouth and he chewed appreciatively. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” He wrapped up the remains of his lunch and put them in the small ice box in the kitchen nook. “What I really could use is a shower. I don’t want my street clothes to smell like my dance clothes. I’d better get going.”

“Oh, Fred, really, just use mine.” She pointed towards the bathroom off the bedroom.

Tired enough not to argue, he undressed quickly and tried to figure out her shower. There seemed to be shower heads everywhere. He counted at least eight. Turning the water on, he whooped his delight as eight jets of water burst forth, covering him from head to toe in deliciously hot water. 

“Hey, you okay in there?” Ginger had heard his exclamation. Not getting a reply, she hurried into the bathroom to check on him. “Hey, Freddie?”

He poked his head out of the sliding glass door sealing off the huge shower/tub combo. “What?”

“I thought I heard shouting.” Now that she saw him, she realized he was simply enjoying her shower. She rather enjoyed it herself, if was definitely better than his typical shower. 

“I’m getting one of these in MY bathroom,” he declared, “Wow, this is fantastic!”

“Well, hurry up and get out, I want my turn! Don’t use all the hot water!” 

He poked his wet head back out of the shower, water running down his face. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you join me in here and we’ll share the hot water?”

She’d been half hoping that he’d say that, but she hadn’t wanted to suggest it in case he was too tired. Shimmying out of her street clothes quickly, she joined him. 

Immediately his arms wrapped around her waist and he swung her around so that the water hit her right in the face. Sputtering in surprise, she gasped and struggled to get out from the torrent. He moved her around and pushed the straggly, wet hair out of her face. Most of her makeup had been removed by a makeup artist before they’d wrapped out for the night, but a drip of errant mascara ran down her face. He wiped it off with his thumb as she caught her breath and giggled.

“Isn’t this a lovely day, to be caught in the rain?” he asked. As beautiful as she was in makeup, she was just as beautiful out of it. As spectacular as she looked in designer gowns, she was even more stunning naked as a jaybird. He leaned in and kissed her hard. 

She returned the kiss with equal fervor. After dancing together for hours, pressed up against him and practically breathing the same air, her whole body thrummed with desire. Trying to find a section of the wall that didn’t have a shower head, they maneuvered into a corner. Crowding her close, he pinned her against the wall and lifted her off of her feet. The flat strap muscles on his arms stood out as he shifted her around.

“Don’t drop me, Freddie! An accident in the shower would be hard to explain.” She wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders. This wasn’t exactly comfortable, and the tile was cold against her back, but she was willing to give it a try if that’s what he wanted.

“I won’t drop you,” he promised, and anchored himself as best he could. At least the floor of the tub wasn’t slippery. He shifted her one more time, feeling the strength in her legs, and it made him want her even more. He pushed deep into her wet heat.

“Oh, god, Ginge, you feel so good,” he breathed into her wet shoulder. She wiggled a bit to accommodate him. The slight shift let him slide deeper, until he couldn’t go further. Pulling out part way, he began randomly alternating shallow thrusts with deep ones. 

Ginger tried to move with him, but she was pressed against the tile wall with nowhere to go. Canting her hips slightly, suddenly Freddie was hitting all the right spots and she tipped her head back onto the cold wall and moaned in pleasure. 

“I imagined you like this while I watched you wrap your legs around that horse this morning,” he said between thrusts. 

“And I imaged you like this when you held me so close in the dance,” she returned, but she soon lost interest in talking. Fred was hitting everything just right and within a minute she was coming, constricting around him in wave after wave. 

“Ohhh,” she gasped, the tiny sound that he loved so much.

Pushing into her hot wetness a few more times, he let go deep inside of her, shuddering with pleasure. Still holding her up, balanced against the shower wall, he leaned in and rested his head on the cold tile wall. He would never, ever get tired of this. A day spent with Ginger, full of dancing and music, followed by amazing sex? A perfect day. 

Ginger reveled in his strength as she held him tightly with her strong dancers legs. Marveling at his balance while he was still buried deep inside her, she stroked his thinning hair while he rested. She would never tire of his attention or reverence. She’d been with a couple of other men, but Fred was something else altogether.

Finally, as his arms began to shake with the effort of holding her up, he reluctantly slid out of her and put her down carefully. 

“Yeah, I like your shower a lot,” he declared, suddenly shy. He wrapped his arms around her and she rested against his shoulder while they both caught their breath. The hot water beat against their tired muscles and massaged any remaining stress away. “We should probably get going,” he said reluctantly. It was after eleven now, and any more time would be hard to explain. 

“Yeah.” Equally reluctant, she reached around him and shut off the hot water. 

“And I’m definitely getting a shower like this installed.”

“What are you going to tell the office, that my shower is awesome, and you want one?” she teased, and stepped out to drip on the tile floor. Quickly finding the stack of towels in the cupboard, she tossed him one. 

“Maybe I’ll just do it myself and tell the studio later,” he answered. Yeah, that might be difficult to explain. “Or maybe I’ll just continue to use yours…”

“That’s definitely an option.”

Getting dressed quickly in the cooler dressing room, they said their goodbyes and reluctantly parted, headed for their own houses and spouses. 

***********************

Fred tiptoed inside his house as he came home late, but Phyllis was unexpectedly still awake. Sitting in bed with a book, she smiled at him as he changed quickly into pajamas. 

“How was your day?” she asked. Because she couldn’t pronounce her “r’s”, it sounded like “how was yowa day” but Fred had always found her lisp rather endearing. It reminded him of their own happier times in New York, back when they were dating and he was recovering from his broken heart, and he didn’t really want to remember those days. 

They were both making an effort to be polite to one another, despite their changed circumstances. Usually, they avoided one another as much as possible and Fred spent a lot of time at work.

“Fine, thank you. Got one of the big dances in the can today, so that’s one less worry.” He climbed into bed and fluffed his pillow just the way he liked it. Exhaling hard, he hoped that she’d take the hint and let him sleep but instead she closed her book and turned towards him. 

“I went to look at a preschool for Peter today,” she began. 

“Really? Why? We already have a nanny.” 

“Because I’m lonely, Fred,” she said simply. “I really don’t know anyone here except for you. I need to find some friends of my own and I like talking to the other parents and his teachers.”

“Oh, right.”

Instantly, guilt assaulted him. Of course she was lonely. They’d been in Los Angeles now for eight months, and for a large portion of that time, he was either working or making time with Ginger and she was alone in a strange town with only her son. They hadn’t done much socializing together as a couple before the shit hit the fan, and the few acquaintances that she had were people Fred had worked with. Though he’d kept his word and kept his relationship with Ginger a secret, it still made things awkward. 

“Then it’s a good idea,” he conceded. 

“And I haven’t forgotten your promise,” she went on. “A baby would definitely help me to be less lonely and keep me busy.” 

It made sense, even as his heart rebelled against it. Maybe a child would satisfy her, and she would leave him alone. He could sense where this conversation was going, and he didn’t dare tell her that he was too tired or too spent. Her timing was terrible. “Uh huh.”

Setting the book aside, she turned out the reading light. “I’m requiring you to keep your promise.”

Sighing heavily, he undressed in the dark. A promise was a promise, at least most of the time, when it wasn’t made under duress. At least he had the image of Ginger orgasming in the shower an hour ago fresh in his mind. He could use that as inspiration and use his imagination to get the job done. 

He did his best to fulfill his obligation.


	3. The New Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Ginger are delighted when their old friend George Gershwin (and his brother Ira) relocates to Los Angeles. George introduced the pair to one another in NYC in 1930 - and is a chief mischief-maker, co-conspirator and enabler extraordinaire. Fun times are on the menu with George around!

Beginning of May 1935

“So this is your normal routine, huh?” the gangly tall girl asked Ginger. She dangled her feet in long lap pool of warmish water while the petite actress swam laps. Finally, Ginger swam up to the edge of the pool and held on to the side so she could talk without having to yell.

“Yeah, I love to swim in the morning to help me wake up,” she replied. Her new friend Lucy had declined to join her in the swim, arriving late and yawning hugely.

“And the grumpy man who answered the door… that’s your husband?” Lucy’s blue eyes narrowed as she thought about him. She hadn’t been impressed. He had answered the door after repeated knocks and doorbell rings and merely pointed out the back way when she’d asked to see Ginger. He had stomped off without one word and disappeared. It was up to Lucy to find her way through the huge house to the door leading to the property out back, and to wander around the manicured landscape until she found the pool behind a hedge of neatly trimmed arbor vitae.

Ginger slicked back her wet blond curls off her face, her face carefully blank. “Yeah, that’s him.” 

“Wow. This house, a husband and your movies… and you’re about the same age as me.” Lucy looked at her and shook her head, “You sure are lucky.”

“No, I’m not all that lucky. I work my ass off and I got good breaks early on in my career. Plus, I have Lela,” she corrected her new friend. She didn’t address the Lew issue. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty three, and I’ll be twenty four in August,” Lucy replied. 

“Really? I’m twenty three and I’ll be twenty four in July,” Ginger said as she hauled herself out of the pool. Grabbing her towel and quickly drying off, they returned to the warmth of the house, glad to be out of the brisk morning May weather.

After figuring out that Ginger was three weeks older than Lucy, the two girls ran up the stairs to Ginger’s messy bedroom. Shucking off her swimming suit quickly and tossing it over a chair, she pulled on some light cotton pants and a tee shirt. 

Lucy looked around the big room to give her friend a bit of privacy. The double doors that led to the balcony looked out over the back of the property, giving a view of the three acres of manicured lawns, fountains, pool, tennis court and outbuildings. It was a big property, even by Beverly Hills standards, though the house wasn't as big as some on the same street. Lucy sighed. She still lived in a small apartment, but she had big plans. Someday she’d get her break and succeed. Seeing how Ginger worked and lived was an inspiration. 

Lucy was a part of the small group of novice actresses that Ginger’s mom, Lela, was teaching at her little theater workshop inside RKO. Lela hoped that Ginger would make some friends from this set of girls. So far, only Lucy had been able to keep up with Ginger. Kind of. Trying to keep up with her was exhausting. After swimming at 4:30am, Ginger ran a few miles before filming or doing other work for up to 18 hours a day. As far as Lucy could tell, Ginger barely slept. She didn’t know how she managed. And then there were the rumors of her and her dance partner… Lucy was curious but didn’t want to jeopardize her new friendship by being too nosy. 

“Come on! Let’s go.” Ginger grabbed Lucy’s hand, “We’ve got to be at the studio in an hour and I want to get there early.” 

Their conversation echoed through the largely empty enormous mansion. Ginger hadn’t had time to furnish it yet, for the most part. She and Lew had owned it for six months now since their wedding in November. She just didn’t have much time for shopping and Lew wasn’t interested at all in helping out. They had been separated for months now, living in the same house, but in different floors. After a threatening visit from one of Ginger’s friends, he had kept his distance from his wife and never hurt her again, but they weren’t on friendly terms.

“Hey, keep it down!” Lew’s annoyed voice came down from the downstairs hallway. He liked to be up at all hours of the night. He didn’t appreciate morning noise.

“We’re just leaving, keep your shorts on,” Ginger yelled back. Grabbing her house key off the hook, the two young ladies burst outside, and Ginger slammed the door shut as loudly as possible. Shoving the key into her sock, she led the way and the two were off, jogging down the broad avenues of Beverly Hills towards RKO in Hollywood. The morning was still very early, and the sun was just coming up. The cold white light let Lucy ogle the amazing houses along the way and vowed to herself to own one someday.

The couple of miles melted away under their feet, and soon they could see the studio coming up quickly. Checking in through the Gower entrance, Lucy was along for the ride as Ginger joked around with the security guards and headed towards her dressing room. Taking turns in the shower, the two quickly sluiced off the sweat from their run and prepared for the day. Lucy’s small scene would be shot that day and Ginger had thoughtfully arranged to have her wardrobe delivered. 

*****************

“My stomach is doing flip-flops,” Lucy conceded to Ginger as she prepared to shoot the small scene. It would be her first speaking role on a film. It was a big deal to her, and she didn’t want to mess it up. Lela Rogers watched her protegee from behind the camera, with Mark Sandrich. Ginger hovered at her shoulder. 

“Oh, nonsense, you’ve got this. It’s only one sentence,” Ginger shrugged. She sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with her because she never, ever got nervous while acting. She loved that everyone was watching her. It mystified her that others found it difficult, even those who wanted to be actors. She gently pushed her to take her mark.

Lucy and took strength from her friend’s calm encouragement. Sure enough, they zipped through the small scene, Lucy had her first speaking role, and it was over in a flash. 

Lela met the girls in the small wardrobe dressing area set up in a corner of the huge soundstage. 

“Nicely done, kiddo!” Lela gave the gangly tall girl a one-armed hug. 

“Ah, thanks,” she blushed, elated over her small success. Her grin was a mile wide and her brilliant blue eyes sparkled. She pulled on her street clothes quickly, “I could get used to this.”

The three walked out of the soundstage into the bright May sunshine. Lela asked, “Want a ride home?” 

Lucy deflated. Seeing this, Ginger butted in. “Actually, she was going to hang around with me today, at least for a while.”

The girls exchanged a look. Lela hadn’t heard about Ginger’s schedule for the rest of the day but was pleased that her daughter was getting to know someone her own age and was including her in her plans.  


“Alright then, I’m off to do some shopping. I’ll see you at your house later tonight.” Lela had made a habit of coming to Ginger’s house when her daughter was home, first because it deterred Lew from being around and second, because she simply missed living with her. The two were very close. Ginger had also made up a guest room for her mother, to make it easier for her mom to visit. 

“Bye, Lee Lee,” Ginger kissed her mother on the cheek and the two girls took off towards a different soundstage. 

“Your mother is something else,” Lucy remarked. Without Lela’s support and connections, she wouldn’t have this amazing opportunity to ride Ginger’s coattails. 

“Yeah, she is,” Ginger loved her mother, and resented the implication that she was a typical stage mother. Lela was much more than that. Perhaps in a different age, with more opportunities for women, she could have been an amazing talent agent in her own right. Now she wielded power behind the scenes, as her famous daughters unofficial manager and as an acting teacher. 

Coming up on another of the “Top Hat” sound stages, they stopped when they heard a call, “Ms. Rogers! Ms. Rogers!”

Turning, a breathless production assistant dashed up to them. He held out a handful of script pages on yellow paper to her. Gasping for breath, he got out, “Have you seen Mr. Astaire? I have some pages for him, too.” 

Eyeing the security guard at the stage door warily, the PA hesitated. Fred did not like to be disturbed when he was rehearsing and everyone knew it, especially the poor PA tasked with delivering items to him. The guard nodded, “Yeah, he’s in here. Started a few hours ago.”

Ginger accepted the pages from the young man. “I’ll see that he gets them.” 

He smiled in relief. He was only a year younger than Ginger and had a bit of a crush on her. She thought he was cute, but no star would ever be caught seriously flirting with someone that far down the food chain. Rushing off on his deliveries, Lucy watched his butt as he walked away, and whispered confidentially, “He’s cute.”

Ginger could only nod and agree. The security guard held open the door for them, and the two entered into the soundstage that held the Jerry Travers' Apartment set. 

They could hear the tapping before they could see Fred. Before they rounded the corner, Ginger pulled Lucy aside. 

“Wait here,” she whispered, knowing that Fred had heard the door and would be looking to see who dared to interrupt him soon, “He doesn’t like to be interrupted.”

Lucy nodded, curious. 

Fred’s footsteps approached them as Ginger walked out to meet him. “Good morning, sunshine!” 

His face lit up at seeing her and she couldn’t help but answer his cheeky grin. The sweat ran down his forehead and reddened cheeks, and he swabbed it off with a towel. He’d been working hard on rehearsing his solo dance. Slinging the sopping towel around his shoulders, he came to her and gave her a peck on the cheek. He smelled of his distinctive aftershave and sweat, a peculiar combination that she’s come to associate just with him. She held out the script pages, “I met a PA on the way here and we have new dialog pages.”

He took them from her and thumbed through them quickly. He wasn’t interested in changes to the script when he was working hard on memorizing the dance moves. “Eh, later.”

Instead of reading them, he tossed them onto his director’s chair and grabbed her hand, “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or two.”

Quickly, he swirled her around in a dance hold and into a rollicking waltz. Their footsteps echoed a bit on the slick looking Bakelite flooring. Without cameras or crew, the soundstage was silent except for the tapping of Fred’s tap shoes and the shuffling sound of her tennis shoes. There were only a few lights in the room, just enough to light the Apartment set, and the rest of the soundstage was in shadow. Neither of them noticed a curious Lucy peeking around the corner. 

“I’ll be back. I have some errands to do and then I’ll be here for rehearsal hours and then I have an interview after lunch. How’s the “No Strings” dance coming along?”

With trepidation, he asked, “Wanna see it? Tell me if you like it. I’m sure it’s not up to my usual standards, but you know, maybe?”

“Of course I want to see it!” Fred always thought that his efforts were substandard. She’d never met someone so talented and so oblivious to it, but that was part of his charm. He responded with a relieved grin.

With that, Fred danced her back to her own director’s chair. Perching on the edge, she glanced back to see Lucy sneaking a look and shook her head infinitesimally. She didn’t want her to interrupt now, especially since she hadn’t told her dance partner that there was someone else in the soundstage. 

Fred took her other hand gently, rubbing her knuckles as he liked to do, and began to sing. It wasn’t always comfortable being serenaded, but this was her love, and he always made her feel like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. As the sole recipient of his attention, she couldn’t look away. His expressive face captivated her. The catchy Irving Berlin lyrics echoed cheerfully in the big space.

“In me, you see a youth who is completely on the loose. No yens, no yearnings...

No strings  
And no connections  
No ties to my affections  
I'm fancy free  
And free for anything fancy.

No dates that can't be broken  
No words that can't be spoken  
Especially when  
I am feeling romancy…”  


Fred kissed her hand, and then let it go, swinging out on to the dance floor with a funny little drunken sailor toddle. 

“Like a robin upon a tree  
Like a sailor that goes to sea  
Like an unwritten melody  
I'm free, that's me!

So bring on the big attraction…”

He paused to point at her, his gentle hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.

“My decks are cleared for action  
I'm fancy free  
I'm free for anything fancy..”

At this, he broke out into dance, a huge smile upon his face. With his eyes locked on hers, his feet a blur on the dance floor. His rehearsal slacks obscured more of his legs than his tuxedo would, but his feet flew so fast that she had a hard time seeing them. Humming and singing to the catchy tune, he skipped and banged around the room to a syncopated beat and as always, she was mesmerized at his talent and his sense of timing. His giggles and song filled the room.

“Go, Freddie!” she called out. In the script, this is the dance that was supposed to awaken her in the hotel room below and she was supposed to act grumpy. She couldn’t imagine being grumpy with this dance no matter what time of day or night it happened if this was real life. She clapped her hands in glee as he tapped in ever more exuberant measures, rolling his eyes, and making faces, completely over the top, being silly just for her. As always, she was spellbound by his performance, and had completely forgotten about her friend hiding in the shadows.

Lucy watched Fred dance for Ginger, his audience of one.

Crossing the stage, his feet flying and his arms wind-milling around, he advanced on her still humming the tune loudly. Leaning in for a quick kiss, he turned and tapped to the other side of the set. He grimaced at himself in the mirror.

“Ah, Freddie, you’re beautiful, stop that!” Ginger shook her finger at him. It was a silly thing he’d insisted upon adding to the script because he thought that he was funny looking. She wanted in on this silliness. “Oh, wait, this is my big entrance!” 

She hurried over to the other side of the set, playing along. He did a little tap and knocked the statue off the shelf and caught it with perfect timing. She leaned against the doorway as seductively as she could in boring rehearsal clothes and motioned him to put it back.

“Keep singing!” She giggled as he swept her up. With his strong arm around her waist and his other hand guiding and pushing her, they twirled around the dance floor, moving together as easily as if they were one person. Eventually, he sang slower, and slower, and held her closer, until they were cheek to cheek. Fred hummed quietly in her ear; their heads inclined together. Their steps in perfect unison, they moved in their own little world.

Completely forgotten, Lucy tiptoed out of the stage and very quietly let the door shut behind her. She would harass her friend later for forgetting about her, but right now, she was eavesdropping on something far more intimate than Ginger had meant for her to see. Sitting on the steps, bored out of his mind, the security guard gave her a knowing shrug. What went on behind closed doors wasn’t his business and he was very well paid to keep secrets. 

********************** 

Later that afternoon, after Ginger had found Lucy and apologized for getting caught up in the moment, she saw her friend off and grabbed lunch in the commissary. The weak spring sun was shining so brightly that she was reluctant to leave it, but duty called. She had three hours of dance rehearsal next with Fred, and then an interview. She hopped up the steps to the soundstage and the security guard let her in with his key. The door closed behind her with a decisive boom. It locked from the inside automatically.

“Hello? Freddie?”

To her surprise, Hermes was the one who answered her. “Hi, sweetpea.”

She hadn’t seen him in a week or so. He was busy at work getting the background dancers into shape and rehearsing various dances with them. This was the biggest job he’d ever tackled, and he was working his ass off doing a proper job of it. He looked tired.

She gave him a squeeze. “Hi Hermes! It’s good to see you.”

Letting go, he gestured towards the set. Looking around, neither of them saw Fred anywhere. 

“I swear he was just here,” Hermes shrugged. 

Seconds later, Fred dashed out from behind a set that hid the stage telephone. He grabbed her hands and swung her into a spin.

“Guess what!” Ginger thought that his eyebrows might disappear into his forehead, he was so ecstatic. 

“What?” 

“George and Ira are moving to L.A.!” 

“Are you kidding me? That’s great!” George and Ira Gershwin were a talented team of brothers, and old friends from New York City. George was a composer and Ira was a lyricist. They usually worked on Broadway, where they were justly famous for their amazing work, but the Great Depression was effecting everything. It had factored into Fred’s move to Hollywood and now the brothers were coming to the west coast, too. George and Fred had been best friends since they were young teens. Fred had taken over all the song responsibilities in the vaudeville act he had had with his sister Adele, and George had been a song seller. The two had met and their friendship had blossomed. She knew that Fred had missed George immensely. 

Fred beamed at them, clearly over the moon. 

“When are they arriving?” she asked. “And where are they living?”

“That was George on the phone just now,” Fred gushed. “They are moving in two weeks AND they are moving into a house on YOUR street! You’ll be neighbors!”

*****************

Two weeks later, on a gorgeous middle of May day Saturday, George and Ira moved into TWO different houses a block from Ginger’s home. The brothers, joined together at the hip as always, stood on the sidewalk outside George’s house. 

“Ginger!” George, always the exuberant, expressive one, picked her up off her feet and surprised her with a kiss on her mouth, a big noisy affair. He was of average height, with dark brown hair and smile lines around his brown eyes. “Honey, I’ve missed you!”

Ira was more circumspect. A squat, rounder man, he stuck out his hand, “Hi, Ginger. Come in! Come inside and check it out.”

Ira gestured her into the house and George ran ahead to open the door for her gallantly. Stepping into the cavernous space, their footsteps and voices echoed. They hadn’t had time to go shopping yet, so their furniture consisted of a card table and two fold up chairs and a trash can. 

“I’ve never seen an emptier space,” she teased. “I should bring you some dishes at least, from my house. You can’t see it from here but it’s right around the corner. And I can help you find restaurants that you should try.”

“We’d like that, thank you. Can we come see your house?” George was instantly curious.

They were interrupted by the doorbell ringing and a knock at the door they’d left open to the warm May sunshine. 

“Hello, anyone home?” Fred’s voice rang out into the foyer. 

“Freddie!” George lit out of the room. A moment later Ginger and Ira could hear enthusiastic back slapping and what was obviously George tackling Fred. Loud footsteps approached them and sure enough, George had his arms around his friend and had him in a bearhug, feet completely off the ground.

“Put me down,” Fred gasped. His feet dangling a foot in the air, George gave him one more squeeze and dropped him.

George was only an inch or two taller than Fred’s 5’9” but was much more solid, outweighing him by a good thirty pounds. Most of his strength was in his upper body, especially his arms, being a professional piano player. Fred, on the other hand, had strong legs but average arms. He didn’t stand a chance against George’s enthusiastic greeting. 

Ira scowled at his brother. “George, calm down. Fred, hi, nice to see you.” 

The two men shook hands. Though calmer than George, Ira was just as clearly pleased to see Fred, and vice versa. 

“We were just going to see Ginger’s house around the corner, want to come along? Then we can come back and maybe have some lunch.” Ira raised an eyebrow at Fred.

He immediately looked to Ginger. He hadn’t seen her new house yet and was very curious. But circumstances being what they were, he hadn’t expected to ever get to see it. 

“Sure! Lew is in New York for the week. Should be fine.” 

George and Ira exchanged a glance, wondering why Ginger’s husband being out of town would be a condition of them getting to visit. 

The group strolled down the street to Ginger’s house. Along both sides of N. Roxbury Drive were some of the most expensive and majestic homes in all of Beverly Hills. As they walked, Ginger pointed out who owned which home. Some of this George and Ira already knew from their real estate agent, which is why they’d chosen the homes, but some information was new. They were delighted that Ginger lived a mere six houses away, literally just up the block.

As they walked, Fred mulled over the possibilities. The prospect of his best friend and girlfriend living on the same street suddenly opened up a panorama of prospects. From the side glances Ginger was giving him, it was obvious that the same ideas were coming to her, too. He loved that they were on the same page, and he enjoyed the blush creeping up her face. 

Fred had always known that Ginger had good taste, but her house was beautiful. He had been sure that he’d never be able to see it but getting to hang out with George and Ira while touring the neighborhood was perfectly acceptable. Her wasn’t the biggest house on the block of incredible mansions, but it was very well designed, and he was thrilled for his dancing partner. It was a long way from her nice, but average apartment in New York City where they had spent so many happy hours together. 

From the street, it had a wrap-around driveway with a flower garden and young trees of palm, avocado, orange, mulberry and magnolia were planted around the drive and all along the side of the house. Rosemary hedges marked off the transitions with aromatic, straight clipped edges. They entered the first wrought iron gate and walked up the driveway. To the left, he could see another gate, this one under a portion of the house, that led to the detached three car garage. To the right, the sidewalk ascended up a short set of stairs to the fortress-like wood door on the front of the Spanish-Mediterranean home. It surprised him when Ginger didn’t even pull out her keys – she’d left her house entirely unlocked. 

Walking inside, he admired the staircase leading upstairs on the right, with its black wrought iron railing swirled into leaves and grape vines. The floor consisted of large, flat brick red Spanish tiles and their footsteps tapped loudly in the large front living room. Barely but tastefully furnished with only a tan leather couch and solid wood end tables and one lamp, they passed through this room into the one through the arched hallway. This second room was cavernous, with no furnishings at all except for a ballet barre along the wall separating it from the living area and a huge record turn table and radio. Towards the back, the floor to ceiling windows looked out over a manicured garden area with a tile fountain in the courtyard. Beyond that, he could make out a swimming pool past the bushes, and a hand painted sign that read “Tennis Court” with an arrow.

Turning left, she led them to the kitchen area. Overlooking the back “yard”, it was made private by blossoming orange trees and leafy avocado trees outside the windows. The greenery blocked the neighbors view into her home perfectly. The countertops were a creamy white tile, which she rapidly filled with an assortment of pots, pans and dishes that she began pulling from well stocked cupboards. Until George and Ira had time to go shopping, they could borrow some of hers. She liked kitchen gear and had way more than she needed. She also liked to cook when she could find the time. On her refrigerator was a list of local restaurants and their phone numbers. Yanking it off the ice box, she handed it to George.

“Here’s a list of local restaurants that you might like,” she said. She watched fondly as Fred poked around her kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, amusing himself.

“Thanks, Ginge!” Ira looked over his brothers shoulder. “This will be really helpful.”

“When does the rest of your stuff arrive?” Fred asked, ogling the wrought iron pot and pan holder hanging from the ceiling over the butcher block. 

Ira responded while George joined Fred in discovering Ginger’s kitchen. “It’s somewhere on a train rolling through the mid-West. Should be here in a few days, and then the movers will get it all in.”  


George and Fred found the back kitchen door and exited, giggling like schoolboys. 

“Well, guess you guys are getting the whole tour,” Ginger exclaimed, pointing at the two grown men rambling around her back yard together like exuberant puppies. Ira followed her out. 

The pool was actually two pools, a lap pool divided from a regular but large swimming pool by a sidewalk. Rosemary hedges separated it from the walk leading to the tennis court. After touring around, the group came back inside. In a flash, Fred sped down the hallway, exploring the rooms. His own rental home was much more modest, but this house was giving him decorating ideas. 

George was right behind him. Ginger and Ira followed at a slower pace, discussing restaurants. 

Fred poked his head into each room. One of the downstairs bedrooms was an office and the other a generic bedroom. The master bedroom was neat and tidy, and it puzzled Fred. Ginger’s rooms were usually disaster zones. He caught Ginger’s eyes as he passed her and Ira conversing in the hallway, and she cocked an eyebrow at him. He shrugged innocently and headed upstairs. 

He and George walked upstairs, while admiring the lovely wrought iron railing. Turning into the hallway, again, one room was obviously an office and one was a guest room, though Fred assumed it was a room for Ginger’s mother, as some of her personal items were arranged there. That made sense. What didn’t make sense was why the master bedroom downstairs was neat and tidy. He doubted that his dancing partner had suddenly developed an addiction to tidiness. His suspicions grew, as did his feelings of guilt. This was probably his fault.

Continuing down the hall, the two men strode into the end room. 

“Aha,” Fred said. Obviously, this was Ginger’s room. Clothing was everywhere. Dresses, shirts, and slacks were draped on every surface and piles of shoes inhabited every corner along with tennis rackets, hats, and scarves. A pair of skis occupied one corner and riding gear – helmet, quirt, and gloves – were on her dresser.

George looked around the room at the disaster and snorted. “That girl has more clothing than I’ve ever owned in my entire life, right here in this room.”

Fred went to the big window. He discovered it was actually a double door leading to a balcony, with more beautifully crafted wrought iron railings. It was covered by the Spanish tile roof, and entirely private, from what he could see. Leaning over the side, he surveyed the ground below. Close clipped lawns, flower beds were below him, and a large leafy tree was right next to the balcony, it’s branches swaying gently in the breeze. Beyond, he could see the pool and the high privacy walls, but not any of the neighbors. As George stepped up beside him, he regretted leading his friend up here.

“So… Ginger and her husband have separate rooms. On separate floors.” George’s shrewd, questioning eyes were glued to his face.

Fred glanced at him and back out the window, guilt clear in his expression. 

“Oh, Fred, tell me you’re not still …”

The entrance of Ginger and Ira precluded any more conversation. 

“Boys, my room’s a mess,” she scolded, as now three men were witnesses to her messy room. “Get out, please.”

“Nice view, Ginge,” George admired. “I mean, of the yard, not the room! When we get back to my place, we can take a tour there, too. Maybe after lunch. And you can tell me where to get furniture!”

She pushed George around towards the door and grabbed Fred’s hand. His immediate acquiescence made her suspicious, but she got them all back downstairs. Loading them up with kitchen gear and dishes, they traipsed back to George’s house like an odd-looking parade of four. Ira left immediately to grab them all some food.

After getting the dishes all put away into George’s cupboards, the three settled into the living room. Ginger and George occupied the only two chairs. 

“Ah, this is like old times,” Fred smiled, sitting against a wall next to his dance partners chair. “Except that we should have had lunch at Ginger’s house, where there’s at least chairs to sit on.”

“Did you sell your beautiful home in New York?” Ginger ignored Fred’s grumbling, but was interested in seeing how invested in California the brothers actually were. The brothers had shared an enormous home there.

“Yep, I sold it. We’re here for good. If we need to go back to New York, it’ll be for a visit.”

“Well, welcome to Los Angeles!” Ginger enthusiastically said. She actually was very happy with her move. With so many outdoor interests – riding, running, fishing, and camping – California was better than New York for most of those pursuits. The weather was much better suited to year round outside activities. Now that another of her favorite people had relocated out to the west coast, she was liking it even more. “I’m so glad you’re out here, George.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun if I could score a picture for you two?” 

“Absolutely! We’ll get you in contact with the right people if your agent hasn’t already.” Fred entered the conversation. 

“I’m loving your films, by the way.” George began. 

“Thanks,” Fred and Ginger said at the same time, and laughed, catching each other’s eyes. 

“Still on the same page, I see.” He raised his eyebrow. “So what gives?”

Both the actor-dancers looked slightly uncomfortable and fidgeted in their seats, nearly in unison. 

George continued, not letting them off the hook. “So… I couldn’t help but notice, Ginge, that you and Lew aren’t sharing a room.”

Ginger looked to the door, hoping Ira returning would save her from this conversation. Of course George had known about Fred and Ginger while they were in New York – he had introduced them to each other. George had helped hire Fred to give Ginger dance lessons on the Broadway play that he scored for Ginger’s play, “Girl Crazy”. He had been there every step of the way while the two were dating for those eight months and had listened to each gush about the other. Of course he would notice.

She shook her head sadly. “Yeah, it’s not going well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.” She replied in a small voice and looked down at her lap. The failure of her second marriage haunted her, regardless of her relationship with her dance partner. 

“Fred?”

Fred sighed, looked up at Ginger quickly, and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Okay, George, here’s the deal. And we have NOT told many people. This has to stay in this room.”

George gestured for him to continue. 

Ginger eyed Fred seated next to her on the floor, curious as to how he was going to explain this. Beyond enjoying the present, they hadn’t had much discussion about the future of their relationship or the impact it was having on their lives currently. Both tended to live in the here-and-now and let the future happen as it would. 

He looked down at his big hands, and twiddled his thumbs thoughtfully, gathering his thoughts. He hadn't yet told Ginger about his agreement with Phyllis, and wasn't about to tell George.

“Well, it’s like this. We got together for one night on “Flying Down to Rio”, a year and a half ago…” Fred unconsciously smiled at the memory,” … and really, we held off fairly well … until last November, right after Ginger got married.” 

He realized how bad that sounded. Beside him, Ginger flinched. “Then we picked up where we left off, pretty much…”

He lifted his eyes to George’s and found nothing but compassion there. He and George had been friends for a very long time, since they were boys. 

Ginger chimed in. “Neither of us is in a place where we can get divorces. If we did, and then our relationship became public, well – it wouldn’t look good and the Studio would not be happy. They could make life very difficult for both of us. And we’re good together. Really good.”

Fred nodded. He looked up at his partner, and his hazel eyes softened with love. “I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, but for now, I’m the happiest man in the world - at least when I’m with her. You know how broken up I was when she left New York. I just can’t imagine life without her, however that happens.” 

She reached down and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He reached up and clasped her fingers.

“It was a mistake, marrying Lew. As you noticed, we are separated by mutual agreement. He knows about Fred, but is keeping his silence and keeping up appearances,” Ginger continued bitterly, “mostly because it serves him well for the publicity of being married to me.”

George considered his two friends, looking from one to the other. 

“You know what? You two are idiots,” he proclaimed stoutly. He crossed his arms and looked from one to the other. Just a few sentences of conversation between them back in 1930 New York could have cleared up everything and avoided the mess they now found themselves in. 

“Oh thanks,” Fred griped at the same time Ginger said, “Thanks a lot.”

“No, I mean it. You two really are idiots. Two idiots in love,” George continued, but he was smiling as he said it, “I can’t wait to write songs about it.”

Relieved that their friend wasn’t going to be upset, Fred relaxed and laughed ruefully. He was well and truly an idiot and didn’t he just know it. The regrets and complications ran through his mind, but he wouldn’t burden his friends with them now. Catching Ginger’s blue eyes, he huffed out a relieved breath. She smoothed his hair back from his face. 

“Well, your songs are lovely, so I can’t wait to hear them,” she replied gamely.

Ira’s car door slammed shut in the driveway. “A little help here!”

Jumping to his feet, Fred took the opportunity to rush out of the tense room and help Ira bring in the bags full of lunch. 

Ginger watched him go, her eyes soft and fond.

“Hey Ginge?” George said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. 

“Yeah?”

“If he breaks your heart, I’ll be happy to pick up the pieces.” He fluttered his eyes jokingly, being a well-known romantic at heart, but Ginger suspected that there might be a nugget of truth in the comment. 

“Thanks, George.”

Together they went out and assisted Ira and Fred with bringing in the meal. Having George and Ira as neighbors was going to be fantastic.


	4. Bambino, Piccolino and Vino Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final two duet dances of "Top Hat" are on the schedule. First, the "Piccolino" is up and things could not possibly get better for Fred and Ginger. Then, the loveliest dance Fred every choreographed imho, the "Cheek to Cheek" number is up. But first, it's Ginger's 24th birthday!
> 
> ******************************************************

After weeks of rehearsals, Hermes and Fred watched from behind the camera as filming began on the huge “Piccolino” dance number. Two hundred background dancers created a low rumble of conversation that filled the enormous “Venice” set, and lavish costumes created a bright splash of color against the Big White Set pieces. Gondoliers stood in their boats in the built up serpentine canal of dyed black water and it’s three bridges. Several troupes of dancer-singers stood ready throughout the extensive sets. Other extras occupied tables in the piazzas and leaned against balconies and terraces.

Numerous additional Assistant Directors hid behind set pieces ready to lend a helping hand in directing foot traffic. Busy crew members hurried about doing last minute chores and everyone did a final equipment check. Three cameras were prepared to roll, two regular sized and one huge crane that towered over the sets at the same height as the second story set balconies. It was time to get the biggest dance number on film.

Fred stood hovering behind Sandrich’s shoulder. He had chewed his fingernails down to the quick, ruining his manicure, and was still gnawing on them out of nerves. Hermes slapped his hand away from his mouth. “Hey, relax, it’s going to go fine. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just shoot it again until it’s right.”

“This is even worse than the ‘Continental’ dance,” Fred cast his friend and fellow Choreographer a sour look as he stuck his hands in his pockets and began pacing instead. The nervous energy crackled around him and he couldn’t hold still.

They would be shooting these dance sequences over the next several days and it was all he could do to not vomit with all the churning going on in his stomach. Hermes led Fred to a director’s chair, and he tried to settle as Sandrich got behind the cameras and monitors. Fred’s dance with Ginger would be at the end of the process, so that they only had fifty background dancers to employ then, and the rest would be wrapped out. It was going to be a long shoot. He was on call if there was any problems, but he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Hermes was managing the large groups without any issues and was shaping up into being one hell of an excellent Choreographer, but Fred needed to see for himself. 

“Hold the work! Quiet on the set!” The First AD hollered into a megaphone. All around them, an expectant silence fell. 

“All right, roll film,” Sandrich called out and production on the Piccolino dance began.

***********************

Four days later, Fred had lost four pounds. He usually lost weight during the long hours of rehearsals before filming began, but this was unusual. Ginger prodded him to eat something.

“Just a bite, Fred,” she begged. Holding out her own fork, she stuck the pulled pork in his face. He scowled but accepted the bite. They were in her dressing room and preparing to do their own dance later this afternoon. The large group of dancers had wrapped, and everyone on set was glad that it was behind them. It had been difficult wrangling all those people, but they’d been professionals and it hadn’t gone nearly as bad as Fred had expected. Hermes had done an excellent job.

Only fifty dancers remained, and they were required to stand in the background unmoving while Fred and Ginger danced their duet. Hopefully the Piccolino song and dance would go off without a hitch. Well, there had already been one hitch. Fred had learned the lyrics three weeks ago and flat out refused to sing it. He thought it was silly and beneath his dignity, so he had gifted it most ungraciously to Ginger. She didn’t mind; it gave her an opportunity to do something solo. The lyrics by Irving Berlin were silly and the tune was an ear worm – they’d all caught themselves humming it. Sometimes she liked to deliberately hum it while Fred was near so that it would get stuck in his head. It was a just bit of revenge. 

They had to go to wardrobe soon, but she knew it was going to be a long afternoon and wanted something in her stomach. She didn’t like to dance on a full belly, but it would be hours before filming actually began. Now, she was concerned that Fred would run out of steam before they even began. 

The pulled pork sandwiches were good, too, as was the coleslaw. She’d practically inhaled her plate.

“If you don’t eat, I’m not sleeping with you for a week.” She finally pulled out her last trick in her pocket. Making her dance partner eat felt like cajoling a reluctant toddler and she was just about out of patience. Making him eat was not her responsibility of course but keeping Fred’s energy up definitely benefitted her and would make her own afternoon much more enjoyable. So, she pestered him, begged him and finally, threatened him. 

“Okay, okay, if you put it that way.” Fred reluctantly stuffed his mouth with his lunch. He continued to glare at her balefully, but he did eventually gag down most of the sandwich and a bite or two of coleslaw. Finally, he pushed it away and refused more. 

“So, will you sleep with me now?” he asked, his cheeks a healthier color and a glimmer of his usual good humor returning. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“No. We’re dancing this afternoon,” she replied, and swirled away as he grabbed for her. She slapped his hands away and pushed him out the doorway and down the hall. “Maybe later if you’re very lucky. Get to wardrobe and I’ll see you on stage!”

**********

Usually when rehearsing, the dancers wore basic hardworking cotton slacks and shirts when rehearsing, and wore a prop dress for final rehearsal and the real dress to film in. “Top Hat” had been so busy that Fred, who usually had final approval on Ginger’s wardrobe – which she vehemently hated – had reluctantly let Ginger and Bernard Newman take on that responsibility.

She swung the dress around her legs, enjoying the way the light caught the gems. She loved this dress. It was all bows and sparkles and it just made her happy. Catching the eye of the wardrobe assistant who was helping her get dressed, the women both smiled. The dress hugged her curves perfectly. She sighed happily, “This is utterly outrageous and completely frivolous, and I love it!”

“You are so easy to dress. I can’t wait to see you dance in it!” the assistant enthused and clasped her hands in front of her happily. “All of us seamstresses love this dress, and your feather dress! Even Marie and Bernard will be down to see you dance, at least for a little bit.”

“Excellent! Let’s go.” 

The Wardrobe Assistant escorted Ginger to the Venice set. All around her, the eyes of the men on stage turned towards her. Their admiring glances made her walk a little bit straighter and hold her head a little bit higher. She loved the effect she had on men.

The dress hugged her torso down to her hips in simple very pale pink silk, where if flared out and down to the floor in a glorious shimmer of several layers of silk and tule, all covered with sparkly costume jewels that caught the light. The top was a built-in short sleeved jacket that formed the top of the dress and came together with a little bow in the front. It was also completely sparkly. Her hair was done up in ringlet curls. She looked like a fairy princess in pink dance shoes. 

She caught Fred’s eye across the stage, where he was talking with the director, Polglase and Clark, the two Set Designers responsible for bringing the Big White Set of Venice to life. When he stopped talking mid-sentence and his eyes widened in delight, her heart skipped a beat. 

He looked exquisite as always in his tuxedo. The black tails hung to his knees and a pink carnation that matched her dress adorned his lapel pocket. None of that compared with the smile on his face.  


“Wow, you look gorgeous!” he said, walking out to meet her. Taking her hand, he kissed it and continued to ogle her figure. She hammed it up a bit, turning and fluffing her light golden curls. 

Sandrich was a step behind him and looked her up and down. “Oh, that’ll look nice on film.” 

He stepped away from the actors, eager to begin, and hollered to the set in general, “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” 

At his words, crewmembers took their places. The hot arc lights shone brightly over the set and the background dance pairs were already at their marks on the main dance floor. Ginger would sing the silly song after the dance, but they were to start out at the table three steps up on the upper level. The camera would follow their dancing feet down to the floor and rise up to reveal them in full frame.  


Fred took her hand as the dashed up the steps to the tables, “Dance with me. Let's have some fun!”

She smiled brightly at him. Fun was one of her favorite words. Dancing this dance with him was play time, not work. For some reason this actually reminded her of dancing with Fred at the Casino in Manhattan four years ago. She couldn’t wait to hit the dance floor.

His eyes continued to travel up and down her dress. She snapped her fingers under his nose, “Hey, eyes up here. Focus!”

He blushed. “Yeah, that’s a good dress. Bernard is a genius.”

Blowing out a breath of nervous air, he prepared to step out and he shook his arms to get loose. The background extras were ready, and Ginger seemed full of frenetic energy ready to explode. Time to dance.

Taking their places, the music began off stage. All of the final music and taps would of course, be added in post. With the witty lyrics stuck in her head, Ginger bounded from their table and down the steps. Careful placement of the camera followed their steps down the stairs and eventually pulled back to reveal both Fred and Ginger in full frame, already fully into the dance. The music repeated and the buoyant, bouncing steps of the Piccolino were fully captured on film. Twirling and swirling, clapping, and chasing each other around the stage, they lost themselves in the sheer unadulterated glee of dancing together. Since this was exactly how their characters Dale and Jerry would behave, it sure made matters simple. 

As they went into the joyful chase, Fred couldn’t take his eyes off her. As they came out of a spin and faced each other, he lost his head and said, “You’re sexy.” Ginger couldn’t believe her ears. He had just told her that in front of the entire crew. She giggled and answered, “Thanks!” She spun around, then back together, and they literally kicked up their heels. Laughing out loud, Fred whooped. She thought she’d never had so much fun in a dance. Unfortunately, the Piccolino was a short dance, barely two minutes, and before she knew it, they were traveling sideways and jumping up the stairs to their table and toasting one another. 

“Ginge, that was fabulous!” Fred raised his champagne glass to her again after Sandrich yelled cut.

Catching her breath, she toasted him back, though their glasses were empty. “Damn right it was!” 

Her blue eyes snapped and sparkled nearly as much as her dress. Fred wanted nothing better than to get her back on the dance floor. “We should mess up just so that we can continue dancing.”

“Seriously?” She giggled at him, “I can’t believe you just suggested that. Mark will flip his lid.”

They could hear Sandrich getting everything back in line to go again. 

“I really think we should.” Fred sighed happily. “And that’s what we’re going to do. Let's go!“

So far, this movie had been an amazing experience. He had every intention of dancing the Piccolino numerous times, just because it was so much fun, but he already knew which take he’d keep in the film. His perverse sense of humor meant that he wanted to capture himself telling Ginger how sexy she was to him forever on film. It would be another of their little jokes. He loved that subversive legacy he was quietly building into his films. 

They ended up having to do the dance more eleven times. Between each take, several set dresser assistants ran out with towels and rubbed out the shoe scuff marks on the shiny floor. Each take thus took a 2 minute dance and 30 minutes to rub out the streaks. That was annoying, but between each take, he flirted quietly with Ginger at the table. This was one of the easiest and most fun dances that he’d choreographed yet, and he had every intention of enjoying the day. Surely life couldn’t get better than this.

*************************

Fred jumped to catch the door that he’d just slammed behind him and snagged it a mere inch from the door frame. Arriving home late in the evening, he didn’t want to wake Phyllis up with his exuberant entrance. He carefully clicked the door shut and threw the lock. Tiptoeing into the living room, he tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch and went to the kitchen.

Humming “the Piccolino”, which had been stuck in his brain all day, he rummaged around in the fridge for something to snack on. Finding some cheddar, he cut himself a slice and nibbled. It was tasty, shipped from Ireland by his sister. 

“Hey, cut me a slice, too.” 

Fred jumped a mile straight up. He hadn’t heard Phyllis sneak up on him at all. 

He held his hand over his heart, and felt it beating a mile a minute. Slumping against the counter he glowered at his wife. 

“God, Phyll, you scared me.”

Unrepentantly, she smiled and accepted the piece of cheese that he sliced and handed her. “Thanks, I’m starving.”

“What, you didn’t eat dinner?”

“Yes, I did. But I didn’t like the dinner from the Brown Derby; I only ate about half. I don’t know, it just wasn’t very appealing once I picked it up. Peter ate his well, though. We grabbed it on the way home from school.”

“Oh, good. How’s the new preschool going?” Peter was now attending an exclusive preschool in Laurel Canyon. Almost five years old, he was in the pre-kindergarten class and prepping for entering elementary school in the fall.

“Fine. He seems to like his teachers and vice versa. Though his teachers are always asking when you’re going to drop him off or pick him up so they can meet you.”

Fred pulled a bottle of white wine from the rack on the counter. Pouring himself a glass, he pointed it towards Phyllis, but she shook her head. 

The last thing Fred wanted to do was meet a bunch of fans. Though, he probably should meet the child’s teachers to keep up the charade of a happy home. 

“I’ll do it one of these days. I should have a slow week the last week of the shoot.”

With only another four weeks of filming left, the end was in sight. This was the longest movie they had ever shot. He crossed his fingers that the rest of the shoot went as well as the first part. So far, his dances had gone well enough, and his duets with Ginger had gone exceptionally well. The “Isn’t It A Lovely Day” and the “Piccolino” had been tremendous successful dances and everyone on the stage had cheered for them. Sandrich was over the moon and the executives that had come to watch had been pleased. It was all going swimmingly.

“Okay, I’ll hold you to that.” She tossed the slice of cheese into the trash, with only one bite taken out of it. She yawned hugely. “I’m tired. Good night.”

Still pretty wound up from the dance, he settled onto the couch and tried to read the newspaper. Sometimes when he got caught up in a show, he forgot what was going on in the world. Might as well find out how terrible things were during the Great Depression. As he suspected, it wasn’t going well. He should probably donate some more money to his various charities. That was one of his philanthropic outlets and he was happy to give to those left fortunate. 

He nibbled his cheese and sipped his wine and snapped open the paper, shuffling through the pages until he got to the funnies. After just a brief perusal of the front page, with all the doom and gloom, he wanted some light reading. Betty Boop seemed his speed today. The paper hadn’t been opened for more than a minute until he started to doze. Jerking awake, he suddenly wondered how pregnant women ate? Did they refuse dinner and nibble at cheese and refuse wine?

He pushed himself out of his chair and got ready for bed. He hesitated, a shiver of dread making his balls crawl into his stomach as he watched his sleeping wife. He slipped into bed beside Phyllis quietly, so as not to awaken her. Watching her in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the Venetian blinds, he wondered if there were three of them in the bed instead of the usual two.

Turning his back literally on the alarm that was creeping up on him, he deliberately turned his thoughts back to Ginger and how happy and beautiful she had been in her sparkly dress and ringlet curls, smiling and dancing just for him. Even as happily exhausted as he was, sleep was long time coming. 

*****************************

Hermes choked on his glassful of water. “You bought her a WHAT for Christmas?” 

“A horse, Hermes, a horse,” Fred stuck his hands on his hips and turned in a circle, kicking at the sidewalk, “I bought her jewelry for Valentine’s Day, because that’s what you do, but… what should I get her for her birthday?”

Hermes stared at his friend in shock. Well, if buying a horse for your significant other didn’t express your love, he didn’t know what did. It was absurd. It was outrageous. It was absolutely something Fred would do. After being poor his whole life, he was still getting used to this new level of living the high life. That anyone would buy a horse for another still could boggle his mind. 

The two men were sitting outside the soundstage in the shadow, where it was coolest, and wishing for a passing breeze. They needed a place to have a quiet conversation. The hot July sunshine pounded the pavement in the still air. Fred mopped his face with a handkerchief and carefully folded it back up into his pocket. 

Fortunately, Ginger’s birthday wasn’t for another week, on July 16th. He had a week to come up with something. It was hard to shop for the girl, because while she didn’t make what he did, she had her own very respectable income. If she wanted it, she bought it. And they couldn’t take time off to go somewhere on a private vacation, because her birthday was right in the middle of the week, next Tuesday, and they’d be very busy filming all day. It didn’t help matters that her birthday coincided with the first day shooting the “Cheek to Cheek” dance. Now he could stress out over two events simultaneously. 

“Why don’t you just go the simple route and buy her more jewelry?” Hermes asked. He’d never bought a woman jewelry in his entire life, since he was gay, except maybe his mother. However, it was his observation that they seemed to like it, Ginger especially. The girl seemed to have a great love of anything sparkly and expensive. 

Fred snorted. “Well, jewelry is always a safe bet, but I have no idea where she’ll put it all…”

Suddenly, he had an idea. He slapped Hermes on the arm. “Hermes, have I told you lately that you’re brilliant? If anyone comes looking for me, I’ll be in my dressing room. I need to make some calls.”

Well, Fred had a bee in his bonnet now, and Hermes couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

***********************

A week later, they were on schedule to film the “Cheek to Cheek” number. As soon as Ginger stepped onto the soundstage first thing in the morning for a last rehearsal, she knew something was up. Fred’s firm hand on her back steered her further into the depths of the stage. The song burst forth from the crowd of over a hundred people on the Big White Set. 

“Happy birthday, to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ginger, happy birthday to you!”

The enthusiastically sang song degenerated into a robust round of cheers and good wishes. All the cast were there – Helen, Eric, Erik, and Ed – and they all cheered for their co-star. Fred took the opportunity to kiss her chastely on the cheek in full view of everyone, but no one minded – it was her birthday, after all. They all wished they could do the same. She was one of the low maintenance stars at RKO, and everyone liked her, and a whole lot of them had crushes on her.

“How old are you, dear?” Helen asked, as she handed her a miniscule glass of champagne that the craft service folks were passing out on trays. Ginger didn’t drink, but she accepted the small glass graciously. 

Fred scooped it out of her hand despite her angry squeak, and handed her a sparkling water instead. 

“She doesn’t drink,” he explained. Ginger frowned at him for being presumptuous. 

“Oh, well, then,” Helen snatched the glass back from Fred, and now had two. She knocked one back immediately and more delicately sipped the other. “Your loss is my gain.”

“And to answer your question, I’m now twenty-four.”

“Ah… to be young”, “So sweet”, and “All the best for your next year” answered her from the group of actors. Eric playfully socked Ed on the shoulder when he shook his head sadly and stage whispered, “I don’t remember twenty four”.

The Publicity people were beginning to swarm like vultures, but before they claimed Ginger, Fred leaned over and whispered, “I have something for you in your dressing room… later.”

She smiled brilliantly at him as the ladies whisked her away to an enormous cake. It was so big that it was wheeled in on a trolley. The cast, director, Producer Pandro Berman, and a few studio executives crowded around her as she cut the cake on cue. Afterwards, the craft service guys took over cutting slices for everyone and they made sure that she had the first piece. 

The cast migrated together again and finished their cake and champagne. It was scandalous to have alcohol on set, but no one was too worried since studio head Merian Cooper had just arrived and been handed a glass. Prohibition had ended a good two years previously, and good champagne was to be found easily now. 

“Happy birthday, Ginger!” Cooper said, sidling up to their group. They made room for him in their little huddle. 

Ginger was all smiles. Birthdays were one of her favorite celebrations, and she liked being the center of attention. “Thank you!”

“Looking forward to the dance today,” he continued. He shoveled in a mouthful of frosting.

“It should be wonderful,” she enthused. It was a beautiful dance and she and Fred had worked hard at it. Personally, she thought it was the most romantic dance that she and her dance partner had ever danced. She was awed that he would create something like this just for her to dance. So far, “Top Hat” was exceeding her expectations in every way. Everyone who had seen them dance in rehearsals had been enthusiastic and astonished. She couldn’t wait to see the rushes later on and see what it looked like on the big screen.

She said, “I’d estimate another hour or so until shooting. We’ll do a last run through and then it’ll be go time.”

“Fantastic. See you then.” He nodded to the other cast members and tipped his hat to Fred before he left the soundstage.

She was also excited because no one had seen her gown yet, and she would get to surprise everyone. Marie and Bernard from Wardrobe had promised to be here to see her dance in the dress. She was on cloud nine. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that she would get to design a dress with a famous Designer. 

“Sounds like there’s going to be a lot of people here to see the dance.” Fred sounded nervous about it. 

“Well, we’ll be up in our own little bit of stage, well away from all of them after the song,” Ginger encouraged, “It’ll just be you and me after that.”

“That’s the saving grace, right there,” Fred agreed. It was a beautiful dance and he was excited to bring it to life on film. He could pretend that they were alone, and it was just the two of them dancing easily enough.

Too soon, Mark called everyone back to work. 

Fred and Ginger climbed the stairs to the upper level stage where they’d been unceremoniously kicked off a few weeks earlier. Today it looked much different. It was freshly painted, and green plants in pots surrounded the bridge and the balcony dance floor of shiny, reflective Bakelite plastic.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Fred asked quietly as he held her hand and waited for Mark to give the go-ahead sign from far below. He gestured at her plain white gown.

Ginger glanced down at her dress and shrugged. “No, this is a prop dress. Marie and Bernard are bringing the gown any minute. I thought they’d be here already.”

A huge banging noise caused them to both flinch. The lights flickered and they could feel the air suddenly stand completely still. The heat coming off the arc lamps on either side of them suddenly felt hot. 

At this rate, it was going to be a very long day.


	5. Hell or High Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginger seldom got angry but when she did, hell itself quailed. On Ginger's 24th birthday, she faced two challenges. First, Fred hated her ostrich feather dress, the one she had designed. Second, history recorded this squabble, but beneath it, there were more serious issues at stake for the couple.
> 
> ****************************************************************

Wednesday, July 16, 1935

Sandrich rubbed his temples in frustration and wiped a bit of perspiration off his brow.

It had started off as a perfectly fine day. Ginger’s little birthday celebration had gone well, and everyone was in high spirits, ready for the big day of “Cheek to Cheek”. It would be the final duet dance of the film, though they still had to shoot Fred doing his second solo with the tuxedoed male dancers next week. 

Then, the air conditioning had broken. Repair men were working on it, but the temperature was rising on the soundstage, along with tempers. Losing AC in July was a huge headache and meant hours of lost work already. Since the dance stage was twenty feet higher than the floor, that area was already noticeably warmer than lower down. That would not make Fred nor Ginger happy.

It seemed like everyone and their brother was swarming on set today, too, either to wish Ginger a happy birthday or come to see the dance. Even Fred’s friend David Niven, and up and coming actor, had come to set today. They were getting in the way and making his job that much more difficult. It was like a zoo on set.

It was also an annoyance that the set was twenty feet from the ground. In order to talk with his actors, he had to use a megaphone. In addition, they had to use a crane camera today, and the huge piece of machinery made him just a little bit on edge. The safety coordinators were having kittens keeping everyone but essential personnel away from it.

And finally, perhaps the most annoying bit, Fred’s wife Phyllis had decided to come to set today. She very rarely made an appearance, but when she did, it usually made Fred nervous. He did not appreciate having his star nervous on this very important day. Plus, he had a sneaking suspicion that she did it just to annoy Ginger because it was her birthday, which was very unkind. He didn’t need Ginger on edge, too. However, he couldn’t very well ask Phyllis to leave if Fred didn’t.

He had made time to shovel down a sandwich and a lemonade, and he wasn’t sure if it had been a good thing or not. His stomach was in knots and he could feel a headache coming on. This was the biggest film he’d ever made, and he wanted to do it right. This dance was to be the other big romantic dance and he wanted it done right. He wished he had time for a cigarette. Instead, he put his script over his eyes and laid his head back onto his chair. Maybe if he wished hard enough, everything would sort itself out. 

A hard clicking on the floor alerted him. Cracking an eye, he could see Fred’s feet stop at his chair. 

“Um, Mark?” Fred knocked on the arm of his chair. Mark groaned. With a heavy sigh, he pulled the script off his face and looked over at his leading actor. Fred’s lips were pressed together in a hard line and looked very solemn.

“What’s wrong now?” 

“We have another problem.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“Oh, no, you’ve got to come see this.”

Groaning, he dragged himself from his chair and followed. Fred led him off behind the Venice set to the entrance to the soundstage. Fred gestured vaguely towards Ginger.

Ginger stood in the light of the open doorway wearing the most hideous dress Mark had ever seen. It was baby blue and covered with a ton of long feathers. Her hair looked nice and her makeup, but the dress was something else. A Publicity Assistant was getting one more shot of her with a cake handed to her by her assistant. The second after the photo was taken, her smile turned to ice as she turned to Fred.

“I don’t like it.” Fred gestured between the dress and Mark helplessly. He turned to his dance partner. “Baby, I’m sorry but you can’t wear that.”

Squaring off against them, Ginger crossed her arms and her eyes slid from one to the other. From around the corner, Hermes appeared and he, too, ogled the blue feathery mess. Everyone else had managed to make themselves scarce at the raised voices, fortunately including Fred’s wife. He suspected that he had Helen Broderick or Ed Horton to thank for that blessing.

“I don’t care WHAT you don’t like. I’m wearing it.” Ginger’s face was suffused with anger and she had no intention of backing down. Her brilliant blue eyes were glacial as they glared at her dance partner and the assistant choreographer who had allied against her.

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. His lead actress was usually quite sunny and agreeable, and he rarely had issues with her. Usually it was Fred being persnickety that caused issues. Ordinarily, these two were all lovey-dovey with one another – another thing Mark didn’t want to know anything about – and this impasse was unusual. Maybe it was the lack of air conditioning that was making everyone grumpy. This did not bode well for the remainder of the day.

“Okay, hold on here. Everyone just calm down.”

Fred frowned at Ginger. He had contractual control over her wardrobe, but they had seldom had an issue with it. Usually easy going, she resented this one facet of their partnership immensely and fought tooth and nail for her choices when pushed. Fortunately, she was usually right, but in this case, Mark agreed with Fred. Ginger glared at the ceiling, not even giving Fred the satisfaction of looking at him.

A production assistant rushed up to Mark. “The AC is fixed!”

“Thank God. Why don’t we just do a run through and see how it goes?”

Without a word, Ginger pushed past the three men and went to take her place on set. Fred, Hermes, and Mark shared a concerned glance. 

Ginger took her place and Fred lightly stepped beside her. Far below them, they could hear the music pumped out of the big speakers; the actual song would be added in post-production. Mark yelled, “Action!”

Fred swept Ginger out across the balcony and into the dance stage proper. As he swung her around, he got a face full of feathers and caught one in his mouth as it fluttered loose. He gagged and immediately stopped dancing. Several other feathers drifted to the floor. The look Ginger gave him could have melted glaciers.

“Cut! Fred, what’s going on?” Mark called on the megaphone. 

Fred glanced apologetically over at Ginger but brushed a handful of feathers out of the way. “Sorry, got one in my mouth.”

“Well, maybe you should shut it then,” was her uncharacteristically annoyed answer. Her body was rigid against his, a far cry from her usual pliancy. She was well and truly annoyed with him and he didn’t know why she was making such a big deal of this. 

They went again, and more feathers flew off of Ginger’s dress onto the floor. Again, Fred stopped the dance. 

“This is not working. There’s damn feathers flying everywhere,” he shouted down to Mark. He didn’t want to slip on one of them and get either of them hurt.

Mark gestured them down to the soundstage floor. Fred trotted down quickly, and Ginger slowly stalked down the stairs behind him. 

Fred gestured at the dress. “It’s like a coyote attached a chicken here, Mark; I can’t do this. It’s got to go.”

“Absolutely not. I designed this dress and I’m wearing it,” Ginger spat out, raising her voice. Rage coursed through her veins. She pointed an outraged finger at Fred. “Either I dance in this dress, or I don’t dance.”

Fred looked at his dance partner in surprise. This was the first he’d heard of it. Now things made more sense. He immediately regretted his words, but it was far too late to take them back. 

With an outraged and offended glare at each of the men, she turned on her heel and stomped off the soundstage to her dressing room down the street. The crew quickly moved out of her way as she walked out. A wave of stunned silence filled the set. The stage door slammed behind her.

David Niven approached the group. “Fred, what just happened?” 

Fred ran his hands through his thinning hair and shrugged at his friend. Mark froze in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to walk out. To make matters worse, Merian Cooper chose that moment to walk up.

“So, what’s going on, Mark?” he asked. He crossed his arms over his chest.

The director swallowed and closed his eyes, wishing for the nightmare to end. “Ginger, uh, just walked off.”

“I saw that.” Merian was fond of Ginger and had never had reason to be unhappy with his star actress before. He pinned the despondent director with his gaze. “Why?”

Fred cleared his throat of the bile that seemed to have taken up residence there, and the studio executive changed his focus. Reluctantly, he said, “Because I insulted her dress. The feathers were everywhere, and I was choking on them.”

Merian didn’t see the big deal. Personally, he thought Ginger looked good in anything and he was sure that the Wardrobe Department could find her something more suitable. If worse came to worse, he would send them out to buy something and get this show back on the road. Time was money, and today was not going well. “This is absurd. Let’s go talk to her and see if she’ll see reason.”

*******************************

The three men, joined by Pandro Berman and Hermes, walked down to Ginger’s dressing room. 

Rapping loudly on the door, the group waited on her doorstep. After a full thirty seconds, she yanked open the door. 

“Can we come in?” Mark asked. 

For a second, Fred thought she would refuse them. With a rustle of feathers, she pushed open the screen door for them and walked back inside. The five men crowded inside the small living room, taking whatever seats were available. Fred leaned against a wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. This was probably all his fault. He should have just kept his mouth shut and tolerated the dress.  


“Look, the dress is a problem. Will you please consider wearing something else?” begged Pandro Berman, who usually got on quiet well with Ginger.

Ginger had not taken a seat, specifically so that she could stand while the others sat. She didn’t want to be spoken down to like a child or be at a disadvantage since she was so tiny. She had designed this dress and it moved beautifully. It was going to be fabulous to dance in and she was going to dance in it come hell or high water. “No. I wear the dress, or I don’t dance.”

The suits looked uncertainly around at one another until Merian stood up. “Well, let’s take a little break, then, and we’ll talk later. Maybe we can send the dress back to Wardrobe and have the girls sew the feathers on tighter.”

“I’ve called my mother. You can talk with Lela when she gets here,” Ginger declared. A fresh swell of indignant rage rose up within her. She knew damn well that the execs were intimidated by her mother. Lela usually got her way when she got involved. The way they all flinched minutely and grimaced reassured her. 

Another knock on the door interrupted them. Fred opened the door and a terrified looking PA stood on the doorstep. “I’m sorry Mr. Sandrich, but the AC just went out again. The repairmen have been called back.”

Mark nodded to the boy, who promptly fled. “Well, that’s that. We can’t shoot without AC and I think maybe it’s time to take a break and let everyone cool down. Let’s come back tomorrow and have a reasonable discussion.”

Mark, Merian, Hermes and Pandro all left the dressing room suite, leaving Fred alone with his furious dance partner. Before he had a chance to say anything though, Phyllis stepped into the doorway and held the screen open. She looked annoyed, with a grumpy frown on her face. Fred pinched the bridge of his nose and wished that he’d just said okay to the damn dress and avoided this entire situation. Behind her, he could see David in the background, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Oh so you’re here,” she said in her crisp Boston accent and funny way of not pronouncing her ‘r’s, looking impatiently between him and Ginger. “I thought we were done here and heading home.”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a little bit,” Fred replied brusquely. “Give me a minute”.

He wanted just a moment alone with Ginger to discuss things without everyone else involved. Their emotions were running high and he wanted to apologize for letting it get all out of hand. 

Phyllis looked Ginger up and down and took in the angry look on her face. “I doubted you, Fred, but now that I see it, you’re right. She looks like a rooster.”

Ginger’s eyes blazed with anger. She took three steps towards the door before Fred stepped in front of her to head her off. He held her by the arms tightly, stopping her from going after his wife, and said, “Oh, hey now.” 

Ginger looked daggers at him, shaking with anger. She growled between gritted teeth, “Get her out of my dressing room or so help me...”

Phyllis leaned against the door jam and smiled at her, and there was nothing kind in it. “I’m going. But since she’s already angry, Fred, why don’t you tell her about the little deal we made? Oh, and I’ll need you to keep your promise tonight. Again.”

Her dark eyes narrowed with hate. Smirking, Phyllis slammed the door and walked off. David took off after her.

Inside the dressing room, the two lovers faced each other in silence.

Fred still had hold of Ginger and she yanked her arms free. Backing up, she took a second to take a deep breath. Phyllis never came to make small talk.

“What does she mean?” Ginger asked quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself. The ice blue feathers settled around her body, moving as she did. “What deal and what promise?”

Her dance partner was frozen where he stood, his eyes wide. The color had left his face. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. 

Again she asked, “What does she mean, Fred?” She squared her shoulders and faced him. The dress flowed with her like the wings of an angel.

Fred sank down onto the couch and ran his hands over his face, buying himself time. He took a deep gulping breath of air, trying to marshal his thoughts. He would never lie to her, no matter how unpalatable the truth. 

In a shaky voice, he began. “Well, you know she refused to divorce me. And it’s true that she gave up and said that we could be together, but there was… a price to that.”

Ginger raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. This ought to be good. If Phyllis liked it, she was going to hate it.

“Well, um.” He stumbled over the words. “I had to promise her a … baby. I had to promise her a baby, Ginge, so that she would leave me alone and let me be with you.”

Ginger felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She slowly sank down on the other end of the couch, without looking away from his entreating eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe. 

“I had to do it, Ginge. The price of her silence about you and me … is that. She promised to keep the secret if she had that. She’ll leave us alone now.”

The sharp sting of tears started in her eyes. As much as she loved Fred, a baby was the one thing that she could not and would not give him. First of all, she literally couldn’t. She was unable to carry a baby to term. And secondly, she certainly could not have a baby with her co-star. It would ruin her career for sure and probably his, too. So even if she could, she wouldn’t. 

Sometimes while in bed, Fred whispered to her about the possibility of divorcing his wife, but if she was the mother of his child, he would never go through with it. Maybe Fred didn’t understand that, but Phyllis certainly did. Ginger might have him for the short term, but he would be tied to Phyllis for the rest of his life. Being an honorable man who was very traditional in some ways, he would never abandon his own child. Phyllis had won. 

She looked away from him, grabbed a tissue off the end table and held onto it as her hands began to shake. This was her Achilles Heel, the one weakness that she had, and Phyllis had delivered the death blow with precision and without mercy.

Fred left the couch and got down on his knees in front of her. He took her unresisting, trembling hands in his. Running his thumbs over her knuckles, he kissed them gently. He did not like being caught in the middle like this. His wife was playing dirty and Ginger was hurt, and he had no idea what to do to make any of it right. Maybe there was no way to make it right. 

“As long as I can have you, Ginge, I would pay any price.”

His hazel eyes sought her blues. She couldn’t doubt his intentions. She could only doubt his ability to stay true while holding his own child in his arms. 

“But you’re not the only one paying, my love.” She said bitterly and looked away from him. Standing up, she turned away from him and held herself tightly, afraid that if she let go, she’d shatter. “I think I want to be alone right now.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry today turned out so badly.”

“Go home.” She whispered the words, not sure if he heard her or not. Her knees were shaking, and she was beginning to tremble. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn't want to hear his excuses. The door closing softly let her know that he had.

Facing the other room, she could see a huge gift box wrapped in silver paper with bows and tinsel. This must be his gift to her. Just a few hours ago she would have been thrilled and excited. Now, she just wanted to rage and cry at the injustice of the world. 

There was a sharp rap on the door and Lela walked in. With a wail, Ginger threw herself into her mother’s arms. 

What a terribly twenty fourth birthday this had turned out to be.


	6. She the Watercolor to His Sketches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The depth of his feelings for his dance partner astonishes him, and Fred regrets how close he came to losing her in their fight over a dress. Their reconciliation sets the tone for years to come.
> 
> "She closed her eyes for a moment to get into character. She was Dale Tremont, and she is dancing with the man whom she mistakenly assumes is the husband of her best friend and she’s slightly unsure about the whole thing. She is Ginger Rogers, and she is dancing with the man who belongs to her in his heart and to another on paper, and she is absolutely certain of his love."
> 
> **********************************************************

Thursday, July 17, 1935.

Sandrich sat in his director’s chair and stewed. With his lead actors fighting and the studio execs breathing down his neck on the set of the most expensive movie RKO had greenlit yet, he was sweating. Late night calls had gone back and forth all night, urging him to get it figured out and back on schedule. 

A dozen feet away from him, Fred sat in his own chair and glowered, and Ginger hadn’t even come in today at all. Her mother had told them that she would come back when the dress was ready. It had been sent to Wardrobe, and a team of seamstresses had worked into the small hours of the morning sewing on each feather individually. They weren’t ready yet today, and sewing had resumed an hour ago. They estimated it would be ready by the afternoon. So, two days of shooting were wasted because of a damn dress and the stubbornness of his leads. 

He had a few scenes to knock out today, which helped alleviate his anxiety and placate the studio. He hoped that this falling out between these two wouldn’t be permanent. Fred looked utterly miserable. The makeup department had done a good job covering up the bags under his eyes, but you could still see them through the pancake makeup. He was obviously not sleeping. He had no idea how Ginger was handling it, since she was not here at all. 

He crossed his fingers that they’d get it figured out. He’d have to tell Fred to apologize otherwise and he didn’t like sticking his nose into their very obviously not-just-friends business. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. 

******************************

Lucky huffed and the leather saddle creaked, as Ginger urged him higher up the path, his hooves clipping and clopping on the dirt and loose stones in the dark. The twinkling night lights of Los Angeles gradually came into view. Ahead of them, the riding trail wound higher into the steep arroyo canyons and miles of scrub brush which was part of the enormous acreage of Griffith Park. Slowing from the uphill climb, she found a spot between the live oak trees where she could see the view behind them and watch the sun rise over the hills.

From where she was, she could imagine where RKO was. After all, it was only a few miles away from where she was right now, hard as it was to believe. The shooting day would be starting soon. It was a lovely day to be riding, but she was miserable. So many thoughts ran through her head that the noise had left her restless and sleepless. 

Finally, she had abandoned any hope of sleep. The Sunset Ranch was a straight shot up Beachwood Canyon into the hills above Griffith Park and not at all far from her home. The drive up had been quiet. Waking up the manager, she’d tipped him handsomely in apology for the early hour. Saddling up her sleepy horse, they’d headed into the hills in the dark. Fortunately, the ranch manager was delighted to be boarding the horse of Ginger Rogers, the famous actress-dancer, and even more thrilled whenever she showed up to ride. He hadn’t minded at all. 

The chaos in her heart and mind quieted with each mile under Lucky’s hooves. 

Even Lucky was a reminder of Fred, one of his gifts. She reached forward to slap the horse on the neck several times and he reached back to her for a treat. She dug the expected sugar cube out of her pocket and the horse crunched on it happily. He was easily pleased. She wished people were more like horses. The thought made her smile. 

What on earth was she going to do about Fred? Her initial fury about the dress had burned out, nearly forgotten after the horrifying encounter with Phyllis and her demands. She wanted to be angry with the woman, but she was Fred’s wife, after all. For now. His words ran over and over in her mind on an endless loop. 

“I had to promise her a baby.”

Each time she thought about it, the more despondent she felt and the pain in her stomach hit her again and took her breath away. If Phyllis had her way, she would lose Fred. He would never leave her if they had children. Of that, Ginger was certain. So where did that leave her?

If Fred would not divorce his wife, it left her in the cold. Relegated to the role of secret lover or mistress. Forever? She was having a hard time wrapping her mind around the situation. She had been nearly certain that Fred would leave his wife for her eventually, that their first love would eventually prevail over his rebound relationship. The memory of Fred’s worried, loving face, his strong hands holding hers in her dressing room after the fight made tears sting her eyes. He hadn’t left with his wife; but he had stayed. Maybe there was still hope. 

Or maybe she should give up hope altogether. Try again to make her marriage work with Lew or divorce him and move on and try to find a love that would be true only to her and she to him. She was twenty four, one of the most popular actresses in Hollywood and wealthy beyond the imagining of most people during the Great Depression. She had a lot going for her. Surely, she could find happiness without Fred, couldn’t she? 

She tried to imagine life without Fred and failed. He was too far under her skin. He was an elemental part of her life, part of the foundation of her being. As the horse under her stamped impatiently, she sought out his house in the glimmer of dawn, amongst the thousands below her, though she knew she couldn’t see it. Reluctantly, she simply acknowledged that Fred was going to be a part of her life in some manner for the rest of her life. Whether that was as a lover or a friend remained to be seen. She loved too many things about him to cut him out of her life. Besides, they were contractually obligated for at least two more movies, possibly more at the Studio’s discretion. They were stuck with each other for the next several years, at least. Fred had made sure of that. The fact made her feel more at ease. Even if Phyllis got her wish, she would still have Fred in some way. It would have to be good enough. She would make it work. Was being loved and cherished a bad thing, even if they couldn’t be together all the time?

She wondered what he was doing right now. Was he at the studio yet preparing for a day of filming without her?

She twitched the reins and brought Lucky back onto the path. Kicking him up to a trot, they headed across the top of the hills, admiring the view. No one claimed life was fair. You made your choices and got on with it, and that’s what she would do. The City of Angels woke up below her as the sun rose. Refusing to be deterred for long, her heart rose with the sun, too.

*********************************************

George Gershwin sat with Fred in his breakfast nook and ran his fingers lightly over the shiny oak table while his friends spilled his guts. It was early, not even quite seven in the morning, and he wasn’t used to being up this early. He was very much a night owl. However, his best friend needed him. He propped his head on his chin and did his best to keep his eyes open.

Fred obviously had slept very little the previous night. The bags under his eyes were dark brown, and he looked pale and spoke quietly, with a catch in his throat. He’d gone into detail about all of the terrible things that had happened on set yesterday – the birthday party for Ginger, the dress, the fight, the executives, and their demands and then the showdown with Phyllis and having to explain the whole deal to Ginger. His own guilt over the whole thing was crushing him. If he’d just shut his mouth and gone along with the dress – defended his beloved dance partner instead of laughing at her – this all would have been nothing. And he should definitely not have allowed Phyllis to come to the set on Ginger’s birthday. What had he been thinking?

Unfortunately for Fred, George agreed with Ginger. If she wanted to wear her own dress design, what was the big deal? Fred controlled everything else on set with an iron fist. Her wardrobe was the only thing that Ginger had first say on. And to insult something that she had created? Her first effort? Well, he was just as glad that he hadn’t been visiting set yesterday morning. He would have most definitely sided with her.

George jumped slightly when Fred pushed his arm out from under his chin.

“Are you listening to me?” he moaned. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, and his eyes rimmed in red. 

George sat up straighter in his chair. “Sorry, I started to drift there…. But yeah, I’m sorry all this happened but I think Ginger has great taste and you should have just shut up and gone with it.”

“Yeah, I know that NOW.” Fred’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “How do I fix this? i don't want to hurt either of them.”

George wished vaguely for a cigar, but it was way too early in the morning to begin smoking. Instead, he sipped his tea and bought himself time to think.

“Do you want to fix this?” he began cautiously, “or do you want to just let this be a breakup with Ginger? Maybe you should just let it run its course and take this opportunity to walk away from the situation. JUST be dance partners but nothing else.” 

He wasn’t sure what his friends’ intentions were here. Both he and Ginge were married, though unhappily. Were they both headed for divorce or staying together? Were Fred and Ginger together just a flash in the pan? Were they going to be in this side romance for a long time?

Fred’s eyes widened with horror at the suggestion. “Good god, no!”

“Really, Fred? George pinned him with a stern look. “Maybe it would be best for this professional break to become a personal break and you two can go on and live your own lives. Just call the whole thing off.”

Fred leapt from the table and began pacing up and down in the small breakfast nook area. Pausing to lean on the door jam, he banged is fist hard on the wall. 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

George could sense decisions solidifying in Fred’s mind. He could see his friends’ breathing slow down and the haunted look leave his eyes. 

“I knew she was something special when I met her in the lobby of the Alvin Theater, George, five years ago.” His voice choked up. He stood up and squared his shoulders. “You know that I was lost the moment I saw her and got to dance with her in the lobby for the first time. I made a mistake then that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I hate being estranged. I hate this. And it’s my fault.”

George sighed and shook his head, “Okay, but if you hurt Ginger, I’ll break your kneecaps.”

“Thanks, George.” Fred grabbed his hat and bolted for the door. “I need to apologize.”

George stood up with him and walked to the door. He wasn’t sure if he’d been any help this morning or not. He watched as Fred got into his car and drove to the studio, ready for whatever happened.  


The words he’d just said rattled around in his brain, “just call the whole thing off...” Maybe if he slept on it, the magic would happen, and he’d awaken in a few hours with a melody in mind. He’d have to call Ira later and work it out. Whatever happened with his friends, they were providing him with plenty of song material. In the meantime, his pillow was calling his name loudly. 

****************************

The intrusive thoughts would not leave his mind. Apologize, apologize, apologize. The horror of George’s suggestion that he call the whole thing off with Ginger rampaged through his mind. A moment’s distraction and the very first beat with his walking cane came out wrong and his rage and frustration erupted. Striding to the set wall, he kicked it several times, hard. The loud banging filled the suddenly silent soundstage and the entire set wall shuddered.

All around, people froze in astonishment. Fred rarely got angry. And they’d never seen him physically express anger like this before. Mark Sandrich quietly called, “Cut”, and the camera stopped filming. 

Fred put one shaky hand over his eyes and the other on the waistband of his tuxedo pants. Taking big gulping breaths, he tried to gather in all the frayed pieces of his soul. He felt like he was on the edge of a blade. A slip either way would gut him. He deplored being distracted while dancing and scolded himself ruthlessly. A gentle hand on his shoulder shocked him.

Hermes soft brown eyes were filled with compassion and that was the last thing Fred wanted to see. He wanted to be angry at himself and scream, not to be understood. He shrugged off his friend’s hand violently. “Give me a goddamned minute.”

Hermes backed off and waved Sandrich away. Together they walked back to the camera crew and waited on Fred. Every person on the soundstage had either seen or heard about Fred and Ginger’s fight yesterday, so it was only natural that he was upset. Little did they know just how upset he was, nor what it was actually about. Only Hermes knew the whole story, though Sandrich had a pretty good idea.  


Sandrich was getting worried, though, for another reason. They had only ordered thirteen canes and Fred was breaking them at an alarming rate. They had never imagined that he’d go through all of them; they were just supposed to be backups, just in case of accidental breakage. Not deliberate breakage.

After a moment, Fred returned to the dance floor. The twenty tuxedoed dance extras waited with professional calm, leaning on their own canes. Fred took a deep settling breath and made a rolling motion with his hands. Sandrich called the set to order and they began again. 

They didn’t get far.

They made it all the way through only the first take before his invasive thoughts returned. 

After that, it had all gone downhill. The images would not leave his mind. It infuriated him that his personal life was interfering with his professional life nearly as much as the problems themselves frustrated him. Usually he was able to compartmentalize everything neatly in his mind. Work and home were two very separate things, and he was able to keep them separate. But when his wife came to his work and caused problems like yesterday, they came together in the worst way possible. 

They had stopped and started half a dozen times already. He’d broken cane after cane over his knee and Sandrich and the crew had no idea what to do. The background dancers didn’t know Fred from Adam, so they didn’t quite realize how horrifying and out of character his anger was. Temperamental actors and dancers were nothing new to them. With twenty background dancers, a small but full orchestra playing live music in the pit and a small audience of extras, there were a lot of people waiting on him to get his act – literally – together.

“Alright, going again,” Sandrich called hopefully. The cameras were already moving back to their starting positions. 

Fred glared at him and tried to rein in the anger he’d let loose. “Yes, let’s.”

Taking his place, the orchestra started up and the extras took their spots and Fred missed his cue. Again. They tried again, and again, and again. Time after time, something went wrong, and they were forced to stop and reset.

Snapping cane number ten over his knee, he threw the pieces against the set wall and walked off. Horrified silence again filled the soundstage. Sandrich called “cut” and they could all hear Fred at the back of the set slamming his hand against the wall. 

Mark listened to his lead falling apart in the hallway. He had a bad feeling that the cure was more of the same of what was ailing him, a bit of the hair of the dog. He motioned his First AD over.  


“Call Ginger. Get her in here if you can find her.”

The AD looked at him with trepidation and wrinkled his nose. “But aren’t they – you know – fighting?” Calling Fred’s dance partner in to deal with his tantrum wasn’t his idea of a good time. 

Sandrich rubbed his eyes and nodded as Fred emerged, snugged down his tux and yelled, “Let’s go again.”

The AD sighed reluctantly. “Okay, I’ll see if I can find her.”

It wasn’t fair of them to ask this of Ginger, but Mark had a movie to make and he’d be damned if the personal problems of his leads was going to interfere with production more than it already had. There’d been a lot of phone calls last night from Studio Head Merian Cooper and Executive Producer Pandro Berman demanding that he get the show back on track the rails. Time was money in this business. This temper tantrum was costly, and he was about to throw his own tantrum if the movie didn’t get going.

While the AD stumped off like he was walking to his own funeral, Sandrich approached Fred. He put an arm around the slim man and turned him away from the crew, cast and orchestra. He had harsh words for the actor, but he didn’t want to embarrass him. 

“What the hell is going on, Fred.” It wasn’t a question, more of a demand.

Fred shook his head stubbornly and refused to look him in the eye. His face was red with fury. “I’ll get it together, I promise.”

“Just fucking apologize to her,” Sandrich slapped him on the back, “Get it over with. I’m sorry I laughed at her, too.”

It was especially appalling to Fred that the director had accurately determined what was wrong. Then again, he wasn’t being exactly subtle about it. He hated other people knowing his business. Absolutely hated it. “Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

They went again. Two more broken canes and an hour later, the First AD ran up and whispered in Mark’s ear. With a sigh of relief, he gestured Fred over. 

“Take twenty everyone,” he said to the set. The dancers immediately tugged at their ties and flopped down on the floor or headed to the bathrooms or craft service for food. The crew relaxed however they felt fit. “Fred, come here.”

The frustrated actor jogged over, the latest broken cane still in his hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his flushed cheeks stood out in the hot, bright arc lights.

“Go to your dressing room and take a break, please,” he said. Mark’s own frustrations were beginning to show, too.

“I’d rather not,” Fred replied haughtily. He stood up straighter and grasped the hem of his jacket.

“It wasn’t a request. I’m telling you.” Mark was implacable on the outside, though on the inside he was a bit nervous about ordering Fred about. “Go to your dressing room, please.”  


Fred stuck his hands on his hips and blew out a heavy breath. He looked like he would argue for a minute but turned on his heel sharply and strode off the stage. The door to the hallway slammed behind him. Mark exhaled in relief. He hoped it wasn’t a premature relief.

*****************

The thin carpet muffled his brisk steps as he strode down the hallway. He felt a little bit like a child being sent to his room for a time out. The thought made him crack a smile, the first of the day. Maybe a break was just what he needed after all. Give him some time to get himself together and get his head back in the game. 

He yanked open the door to his dressing room and stepped back in surprise. 

Ginger was sitting daintily on his couch. Her blond curly hair was pushed back behind her ears and she was wearing a pink cotton tee shirt and blue jeans, a combination that Fred rarely saw her in, but found charming, nonetheless. She fidgeted on the couch, catching his eyes, and looking away.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped in surprise, still angry from the dance screw ups, and immediately regretted his tone. He waved his hands at her and tried again in a more civil tone of voice. “Wait. Let me try that again. I mean, hello, hi, why are you here?”

Ginger fiddled with her wedding ring unconsciously. She seldom wore it to work, and never for filming, so it was rarely on her finger. “The AD said you were having problems and wanted to apologize.”  


He swallowed his anger and pride, and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. “Yes, I did.”

“Okay.” She waited, crossing her arms. Her eyes were guarded as she watched him from across the small room. 

He sat down next to her on the couch. “I’m so sorry that I laughed at your dress. Especially in front of the crew. I don’t know what I was thinking, and it was unacceptable of me to embarrass you that way. I apologize for not standing up for you to Mark and the suits and I especially apologize for Phyllis. It just didn’t occur to me that having her on set would lead to … “he gestured towards her dressing room down the street, “… to everything that happened.”

“Okay,” she said again, in a small voice. She looked at her hands clasped together in her lap. 

“Will you please forgive me?” he asked, needing to be sure. He dared to reach out and take her hand in his.

She allowed it. 

“I’m sorry I had to make such a deal. A deal with the devil, actually.”

Looking up finally, her bright blue eyes seemed enormous and a hint of a smile ghosted her lips. She looked tiny and vulnerable and his heart lurched in his chest. Every little thing about her endeared her to him more. That she would forgive him after such a terrible display of manners and common sense made him love her more. She nodded and the hard knot in his chest loosened.

He stood up and let go of her hand. “I’ve also told her not to come to the set without letting me know. I should have said that a long time ago.”

“Good, because if she ever shows up at my dressing room again…” She lifted her head and the fire in her eyes made him glad that it wasn’t directed at him again. She let the threat trail off. 

Fred was all for keeping as much distance as possible between his wife and his lover. Changing the subject, he said, “Say, you arrived pretty quick today. How did they find you?”

She smiled, the first of the conversation and looked towards where the Wardrobe department was, on the other side of the lot. “I was in Wardrobe and a PA happened to run into me. Bernard and Marie and the girls are taking turns hand sewing feathers on to the dress, you know. They’ve been sewing since last night. One sews until their hand cramps, and then the next sews and on and on.”

“They’re doing it for you,” he declared. “Because they love you, too.”

She looked up at him sharply. While she’d been overjoyed at Bernard’s response to her call for help, she hadn’t thought of it quite that way and it was exactly as Fred said. The team had sewed all night not because it would help the production or because Bernard asked them to, but because they liked her and wanted to help. A lump formed in her throat. The reminder that she was loved, not just by Fred, but by nearly everyone on the crew and around the lot settled her. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, gesturing toward the stages. Suddenly, he was looking forward to tomorrow. The relief he felt melted away the stress lines around his eyes. He shrugged apologetically. “Sandrich only gave me twenty minutes.”

She stood up and ran her fingers gently down the side of his face. “Yeah, I’ll see you then. And I don’t expect to hear one word about the dress. Not one word.” 

“Deal.”

Fred returned to the soundstages in a considerably better frame of mind. They had to do the dance six more times because of various things, but he didn’t break any more canes and finally it was in the can. Sandrich literally kissed the huge film roll on the camera, causing everyone to laugh. 

Sandrich was relieved. Personally, he thought this dance was the best solo Fred had done to date, and he couldn’t wait for everyone to see it. As Fred walked off to change out of his soaking wet tuxedo and shower before going home, Mark took the thirteenth cane from him. 

This was totally going home with him tonight and finding a place of honor on his living room wall with a nice little plaque commemorating “Top Hat”.

*******************

Friday, July 18, 1935

Once again, the hairdresser put up her hair and the golden extensions into the gorgeous braid that wrapped around her head like a halo. Once again, the makeup artists transformed her from a pretty girl into a silver screen goddess. Once again, the sympathetic wardrobe dressers zipped her up into the blue satin ostrich feather dress. This time though, the woman gave her a quick squeeze of support. 

Standing in front of the mirror, Ginger took a deep breath and took it all in. 

She tried not to think about what it would be like to walk back onto the set that she’d stormed off of the day before yesterday. She tried to imagine that the whispers wouldn’t hurt. She would pay no mind to the disapproving looks that the crew would toss her way as they took Fred’s side in their disagreement over the ostrich feather dress. She had won her argument. She would wear this dress come hell or high water and it would be fabulous.

She kept telling herself this, over and over, like a mantra. Maybe if she said it often enough, it would be true. Truth be told, she was nervous about dancing in it now. 

A knock on the door disturbed the women as they readied their lead for the big “Cheek to Cheek” dance in an hour. 

Her makeup artist answered the door, and promptly escorted a young man into the back room where everything was set up. 

“For Miss Ginger Rogers,” the messenger said, his hands visibly shaking and his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the famous actress in full makeup and wardrobe ready for filming. He held out a simple white small box to her. She accepted it, curious. He began to walk away and turned back abruptly.

“Can I please, um, have an autograph?” he asked in an embarrassed rush. 

Ginger smiled at him, which caused him to blush a dozen shades of red. “Of course.”

She quickly wrote out her name on a small slip of notebook paper and handed it to him. 

“Wow, thanks!” 

Walking backwards, one of the girls escorted him out, though he kept his eyes on her until he was into the living room and she was out of sight. His adoration cheered her up. 

She turned the box over in her hands, and the three other women hovered over her shoulder. 

“Open it!” the hair stylist begged. 

Carefully prying off the gold ribbon around the box, she popped off the top. Inside was a note. It read:

Dear “Feathers”,  
I love ya!  
Fred

Inside the box was a gold charm, an ostrich feather. The tag underneath it read “Paul Flato” and she gasped in surprise. Flato was possibly the best jeweler in Hollywood. She picked it up and turned it around in the big lights for the girls to see. The delicate feather piece shone warmly. 

They all said, “Wow” in unison. Then, one of the girls harumphed. “Well, I’m glad he apologized to you. You look beautiful!”

Ginger had to laugh. The day was off to a much better start. Carefully putting it back into the box and setting the box on top of the huge gift from Fred, which she had yet to open, she smoothed down the blue silk sheath dress and mentally prepared herself for the day. 

Another knock on the door surprised her. Again one of the girls got the door and seconds later, Fred’s anxious face appeared from around the corner. He took in the women arranged around his dance partner like an honor guard and stepped fully into the doorway. With a deep bow, he held out his hand. 

“May I escort you to the stage, Miss Rogers?” he asked playfully. He looked sharp in his tux, his own hair and makeup perfectly in place. 

Instead of being dignified, she squealed and threw herself into his arms. She could hear the women all sigh or say “aw…” behind her but she didn’t care. Fred wrapped her in a bear hug and picked her up off her feet. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said into his ear. 

He set her down. “I’m glad you like it. I’m totally calling you “Feathers” from now on, though.” 

“It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t you dare start crying,” the makeup artist scolded, pulling her away from her dance partner and making her stand still while she dabbed at Ginger’s eyes so as not to disturb the pancake and mascara. 

Another knock on the door disturbed them. It was like Grand Central Station this morning in her dressing room. 

“Hi, can we come in?” the cheerful voices of Marie and Bernard called through the screen door. 

The whole entourage relocated to the living room. Carefully the pair from the Wardrobe department gave her little hugs of encouragement, being very careful not to disturb the feathers overly much.  


Finally, the entire group traipsed down to the soundstage, ready for the day, with Fred carefully locking the door. He held her hand the entire way and when they arrived on set, they took their places on the high stage ballroom set and bowed to the crew. Pointing both hands at Ginger, he gently encouraged the crew to applaud, leading the way. Welcoming back their lead actress, the crew responded with quietly appreciative applause this time. 

The moment passed and it was back to work time. Ginger blew out the anxious breath that she’d been holding, and relief flooded through her. Sandrich and the AD’s began yelling out final preps and everyone jumped to their spots. It was time to go to work doing what she did best. 

“Ready, my fair lady?” Fred said, putting on his best gentlemanly front.

“As always, my love,” she replied just as ladylike, but then burst into laughter. His warm smile answered her, and he wrapped a strong arm around her waist. 

Together they took their places at the beginning of the bridge into the deserted balcony ballroom. 

She closed her eyes for a moment to get into character. She was Dale Tremont, and she is dancing with the man whom she mistakenly assumes is the husband of her best friend and she’s slightly unsure about the whole thing. She is Ginger Rogers, and she is dancing with the man who belongs to her in his heart and to another on paper, and she is absolutely certain of his love. 

Below them, the lovely music of Irving Berlin started up.

Remembering that they were supposed to be coming into the bridge from a group scene where he’s sang to her, “cheek to cheek” and that “I want my arm about you”, on a crowded dance floor, they drifted into each other’s arms and danced the full length of the bridge, moving as one. In the dance, the characters are tentative in their new love, and it becomes a dance of seduction. In real life, it was an opportunity for Fred to prove once again that he wanted her. 

As they floated around the dance floor, Ginger felt again as if he was leading her to yield to him once again. Twice, in the dance, he twirled her around in a great wave, suggesting that he was worthy. Twice more, he dipped her into a supported backbend, and each time, if was deeper and she chose to trust him more, that he wouldn’t let her fall. She cherished the small, almost secret smiles he gave her throughout the dance. The feathers swirled around their bodies as if they were angel’s wings, softening her outline, transforming her into an ethereal vision of beauty. With each touch and each twirl, with his strong arms around her, she relaxed again into the certainty.

Throughout the dance, he pulled her into his arms, humming the tune softly in her ear. Nearing the end, he wrapped himself in her own arms and she allowed it. Finally, it was time for the final backbend, and she released into it completely. Utterly surrendering to him as both Jerry Travers and as Fred Astaire, she dared not even to breathe as the feathers fluttered to a hushed stop around her form lying entirely supported in his arms. She let the moment linger. She couldn’t see Fred for the feathers, but she could hear him humming approvingly above her. Gently, his hands raised her up and softly twirled her around until they were facing one another, tapping over, and leaning against the railing.

The moment seemed to last a long time. Finally from below, they heard Sandrich bellow “Cut!” on the bullhorn and the magic spell was broken. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for all that happened,” she whispered.

“Darling, I’M the one who is sorry,” he said and kissed her palm. His heart soared within him. The dance had repaired them, righted them, and restored them. “Think you can do this dance a few more times, just the same way?”

She laughed; her natural good humor replenished. “Of course.”

Blushing, he ducked his head and smiled that secret smile she loved. Down below, they heard Sandrich moving around the big crane camera and knew they were about to shoot again, probably at least a dozen more times to make sure they had it from every camera and angle that Sandrich had in mind. Taking his hand, she marched them back to their starting point. 

“I can do anything when I’m dancing with you.”

***************************

It ended up being a very long day. Sandrich wanted to squeeze every bit of use out of the crane he’d been allowed, so they went a dozen more times, as Fred had estimated. Between each take, five set assistants wiped down the floors, removing the scratches and smudges … and errant feathers. Because the dress was a moving prop, inevitably, a few flew off despite being hand sewed on. They were removed by couple of the women in wardrobe. Ginger wondered if they kept them but found out much later that they’d saved every one of the feathers for her. She took them home and stashed them away in her dresser in the box with the golden feather charm. She usually wasn’t terribly sentimental, but these did hold special significance.

After a full day, it was both a solemn moment to remove the dress and a relief. Her feet hurt. She was tired and needed a shower, water, and food. But before they unzipped her, she took one last moment to admire the dress in the full length mirror in her dressing room. She twirled around in it one last time and sighed in pure happiness. 

As the door shut behind the wardrobe woman with the dress in hand, and the makeup artist who had deconstructed her from glamourous Dale Tremont back into simple Ginger Rogers left for the night, a knock on the door startled her. 

A quick peek through the screen into the darkness revealed Fred, dressed a short sleeve shirt and slacks for the hot July night. 

“Hiya, baby, can I come in?”

Wearing only a short, pink silk bathrobe, she quickly let him in through a crack in the door. She chuckled to herself as he looked her up and down. Men were so predictable sometimes. 

He walked straight into her dressing room-bedroom. 

“Haven’t you opened this yet?” he admonished. He gestured towards the gift.

Following him, she shrugged. With everything going on, this had been relegated to “later”. Fred sat on her daybed and gestured towards the huge, wrapped box still sitting where he’d had it delivered several days ago. She looked over the sealed edges of the paper, deciding where to tear it and tried to imagine what could be inside it. 

“Just tear it!” Fred said impatiently. 

So she did. As she tore off the wrapping paper, a gorgeous burled walnut jewelry armoire was revealed. She ran her hands over the smooth wood, admiring it’s beauty. The armoire stood nearly four feet tall and three wide and had a ton of drawers and compartments. On the sides there were two doors that swung open to reveal a long compartment for necklaces, scarves etc. On the main trunk, there were seven drawers for rings and earrings. 

“Oh, it’s lovely!” She had nothing like this. Her jewelry box at home was overflowing.

“I’m going to fill it with beautiful things for you,” he announced, pleased by her delight. “However, you forgot to open the top!”

“Oh!” She hadn’t realized that the top opened up too. It lifted up to another felt-lined compartment with dividers and the internal side of the lid had a mirror. In the center of the compartment was a necklace, it’s yellow gold chain flowing like liquid over the black velvet. The heirloom emerald-cut ruby, her birthstone and a solid 1.66 carats, twinkled below a trio of diamonds. 

She pulled the necklace carefully out of the armoire. “This isn’t costume jewelry, is it?”

“Nope. That’s the real deal,” he smiled, “Just like you.”

The heirloom quality ruby was the best to be had anywhere in the world. Flato had come through for him spectacularly, and on short notice. He would definitely be working with him again.  


She carefully clasped the necklace around her neck. “They do say diamonds are a girls’ best friend, but rubies are my favorite.”

Fred admired the necklace where it was visible beneath her short silk bathrobe. He left the day bed and lightly touched the ruby where it lay at her throat. In a soft voice, he murmured, “Nah, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Oh, how so?” 

“I’m your best friend, or at least your best love. And you’re my best love.”

“You’re a sap,” she teased, putting her arms around his waist, and hugging him tightly, “But a sap with exquisitely good taste.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and shuddered to think of how close he’d come to losing her. 

Leaning into each other in the late nighttime silence of the nearly deserted studio lot, they swayed contentedly together until it was time to go.

****************************

For the rest of his life, Fred frequently signed his letters to her, “Best love, Fred.”


	7. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top Hat will be the most popular movie Fred and Ginger create together, bringing them fame and fortune and instant recognition in the wider world and in the film industry. 
> 
> The flip side is that their lives are very complicated and it's about to get even moreso.
> 
> ************************************************************************************

The last two weeks before Ginger wrapped out went by too fast. Suddenly, it was her last day on the film and she would be off to her next within three days. No rest for the weary. 

“Have you ever been to Big Bear before?” Fred asked as they sat together in their director’s chairs side by side and waited to shoot a scene with Helen Broderick and Eric Rhodes. The other two actors were sitting in chairs nearby running their lines together.

“No, though I hear it’s nice,” she replied. “It’ll be fun to get out of the studio onto a location shoot, even if it’s only two weeks. Hermes will be the Dance Director, too, which is equally nice. I’ve already got the script and the tunes from Jerome Kern; some of them are very cute. Bill Seiter is directing. I think it’ll be a lot of fun.”

“Sounds nice.” 

“And I get to do a lot of dancing and singing… solo.” Ginger threw out the barb, since Fred was always the one who got the solo dances on their films. Since her dancing skills were improving astronomically, she hoped eventually that she’d get a dance solo in one of their films. 

She paused and asked the question that was really on her mind, “So when do you head out for England and Ireland?”

Fred had begun to make a habit out of running away to Ireland between films to recuperate and spend time with his sister in her Lismore Castle. Ginger wished that she could see it. She really loved Adele, but circumstances being what they were, she doubted that she’d ever get to see Dellie’s castle. Fred always took pictures and brought them back for her to look at, though. It was a distant second best. It was also a bitter reminder of his life without her. 

“Immediately after I wrap out week.”

“Top Hat” would be shooting last minute pickups for the last week, bits and pieces that fell through the cracks during the long production. Sandrich had to make sure that all of Fred’s stuff would be completed, since he would not be available. Ginger technically wasn’t available, since she’d be on her next film, but since parts of it were also filming on the lot, she would be around for quick things if necessary.

“So, you’ll still be around for another week, and I’ll be on the lot but on my next movie….”

Fred smiled and pretended to read his script. He could hear the questions in her voice.

“So… you could still visit me?”

“Maybe. I’ll be pretty busy, though.”

Now she knew he was teasing her. The corners of his mouth twitched with the effort not to laugh. She socked him in the arm, and he pretended that it actually hurt. 

“You’d better come see me before you leave or else,” she pouted. “And I’m the one who will actually be busy. You’ll just be finishing two scenes and then packing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an evil side-eye.

Since “Follow the Fleet” wasn’t scheduled to begin principle photography until October 31st (what a day to start), and rehearsal would start 6 weeks before that, she wouldn’t see him until mid-September, a full six weeks, and a bit from now. It sounded like forever. 

“I will make the time,” he confirmed. He put down the script under his chair and went on, “It’s going to be a long six weeks away. It’ll be good to see my sister, and London is always nice, but … I’ll miss you.”

That was all she wanted to hear. The knot of worry loosened. He was going away – but he wasn’t leaving her.

*********************************

“Hey there,” he said, sticking his head into her dressing room several days later. To his delight, both Ginger and Hermes were inside.

“Fred!” she squealed and threw herself into his arms after he closed the door. Hermes leaned against the wall and smiled at their exuberant greeting. They hadn’t seen each other for an entire four days. 

Fred noticed him over her shoulder. “What are you smiling about?”

He let go of Ginger. With a wicked smile, he advanced on the suddenly apprehensive man. Ginger, catching his drift immediately, came around the other side. Rushing together, they caught him in the middle, much to his affected dismay. 

“Oh, it’s a Hermes sandwich!” Fred exclaimed, jumping up and down. Ginger on the other side, began bouncing, too. Hermes, tried to extricate himself from the ridiculous duo’s embrace, and burst out laughing after trying and failing to scowl. 

After a few more enthusiastic squeezes, the let him go and giggled more when he shook himself like a dog. “You two are terrible, you know that? God, I hate you both.”  


Hermes was a lot of fun to embarrass. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” Fred smiled as their friend inched towards the door. “See ya at rehearsals.”

“Yep, wouldn’t miss it,” he answered. He would be forever grateful to Ginger for introducing them back on their first movie, “Flying Down to Rio.” He was honored beyond belief that he seemed to be one of the only people that Fred would actually ask for advice or suggestions. “Call me when you get back and we’ll get it set up. Studio says we’ll have our regular stage then, so we can get started right away. See ya’ round, Ginge.”

“Sounds good.” 

Ginger waved at him, and Hermes scooted out the door, leaving the two lovers alone.

“I only have a few moments, baby,” he said and jumped in as she opened her mouth to protest, “but what are you doing tonight after work? When do you think you’ll wrap out tonight?”

“I’m not exactly sure.” Since they were just starting on the movie, doing rehearsals with Hermes in the mornings and shooting afternoons, it could be any time. 

“Well, call me on the office phone and I’ll pick you up.” Fred had just had a separate line installed into his home office/den. After the last time of Lela calling his house looking for Ginger at the beginning of the “Top Hat” shoot, it had made life a lot more harmonious at home. Then, Phyllis could pretend that she didn’t know that they were on the phone together and Fred didn’t have to fall awkwardly silent every time she entered the kitchen, where the other phone was located. It worked. Mostly. 

Getting picked up after work sounded mysterious. Intrigued and anxious for more time with him before he left the day after tomorrow, she agreed immediately. She knew they next time she’d see him would be weeks away.

******************

Fred’s Rolls Royce was unmistakable. The black Phantom, with its shiny black hood, bright chrome headlights and white wall tires rolled up outside George’s house, where she was hiding in the bushes. They’d agreed that meeting here would be less problematic than picking her up at her house. Fred’s eyes bugged out a bit when he saw her dash from the shrubbery.

“What are you doing? I imagined that you’d wait inside, at least,” he laughed as she jumped in. 

“Making sure we’re not caught,” she answered haughtily, though it was hard to look dignified after sneaking around their friends’ front yard. She slammed the door, and they were off.

There weren’t many people out on the street at midnight. Ginger would have been tired, except that she’d found time for a cat nap this afternoon, and the excitement of a midnight rendezvous gave her a happy shiver. They drove through the dark streets and he turned the big car up into Coldwater Canyon. Winding their way through the twisting road in the dark, she looked over at Fred and wondered at the mischievous smile on his lips.

“Where are we going?” she asked finally, since information didn’t seem forthcoming.

“To my dentists’ office.” 

“Your dentists’ office?” Astonished, she couldn’t imagine what they would need with his dentist. There had to be more to this story.

Reaching the top of the Hollywood hills, at the crossroads between LA and the Valley and Mulholland Drive along the spine of the mountains, he turned left and took the famous ridgeline road. Slowing down around the curves, the city lights glowed and sparkled on either side of them. To the left, they had a view of West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Santa Monica off in the distance. To their right, Studio City, Sherman Oaks, and Encino sparkled, most especially on Ventura Boulevard. Off into the distance, the lights petered out and the more rural parts of the Valley were dark with the huge ranches and acres of citrus trees. 

After passing a lot of huge, gated houses, they came upon a sudden cluster of upscale offices and a church. Pulling into the office parking lot, he came to a stop at the furthest point, where it overlooked all of Los Angeles in the distance. 

“We’re PARKING?” she started to laugh, “at your DENTIST’S OFFICE?”

“He’s got one of the best views of the city,” he replied. “You have to admit that.”

She did. “You’re right.” 

The city spread out before them. She scooted closer to Fred, and he snuggled her under his arm. She dropped her head onto his shoulder and held him tight as his warm lips met hers. Gentle kissing led to more urgency and he giggled as he squeezed over the seat and landed in the darker backseat. She followed and after much maneuvering, she ended up on his lap. and his hands were all over her body, just where she wanted them. He unbuttoned her rehearsal blouse and ran his hands over her silky smooth skin. He was delighted to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and his warm hands cradled her breasts. Ginger in turn sucked on his neck and tried not to leave hickies that would be hard to explain. 

His hands began working on her pants buttons and she was momentarily taken aback. Sex, right here in the car? She glanced out the darkened windows at the dark lot. They were cracked a good four inches in the hot summer night, letting in a cooler breeze. “You know, we could be caught here… are you sure?”

Even as she hesitated, she moved up onto her knees so he could work her pants down. She slipped a leg out of her pants entirely, and suddenly she had more freedom of movement. He was working on his own pant buttons now, and their giggling filled the car. 

“This is more awkward than I thought it would be,” she chuckled as fabric got in the way of skin. “Next time I’ll wear a dress.”

Finally, though, they were both unencumbered by clothing and she guided him inside of her. The moan he released as he dropped his head back onto the headrest was a reward in itself. She moved against him, thrilled with the danger of the escapade and as always, with pure pleasure of his body meeting hers. His hands held her butt and helped move her faster, and his head was buried in her shoulder. Her attention was broken momentarily as she realized she could hear the springs in the car’s suspension system. 

A moment later, he cried out as he came and she followed him a few thrusts later, constricting around him and holding him tight.

“Oh my god, that was fun,” she laughed, leaning in to kiss him hard. 

A sharp rap on the window scared them both. A shadowy figure hovered outside the door. 

With a horrified look, they both scrambled to pull on their clothing. She slid across the back seat away from him and turned towards the far window, hiding her face. Fred turned from the person outside and shrugged his clothing back in place. He gave her one last shocked look. Awkwardly, he made his way to the front seat and opened the door.

The police officer rapped his billy club against his hand. With a disapproving look on his face, he watched as Fred unfolded his elegant self from the car’s open door.

Ginger observed the moment that the poor cop realized whom he was facing. His jaw dropped and his mouth opened in a round “O” as he recognized Fred Astaire, the famous dancer. After all, “Roberta” had just been in the theaters three months ago. Fred and Ginger were well known for their movies. As she tried to hide her face in her sleeve and watch at the same time, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh hysterically or cry.

“Um, sir, you can’t park here….” The officer began, clearly horrified and uncertain.

Fred would have been ten shades of red if it was daylight. Fortunately, the dark hid his embarrassment. “Sorry officer, we’ll move on.”

“Um, I’m sorry to have to ask sir, um, is there a … lady of the night… in there with you?” he looked like he’d prefer the earth to open up and swallow him to asking that question, but he was doing his duty.

“No! Dear god, no.” Fred started to panic as he realized that he could be in actual trouble with the law. 

In the back seat, Ginger sighed. It was never a dull moment with Fred. Now it appeared that it was up to her to save him. With a knock on the window, she gestured for him to open the door. Fred’s eyes were wide with panic as he took in her intention. She pointed and mouthed, “NOW.”

Reluctantly, he opened the door and she stepped out onto the parking lot pavement beside him. If they were going to get into trouble, best to face it together. 

The officer's eyes bugged out to see Ginger Rogers before him also. If she thought his expression could not become more horrified and embarrassed, she was wrong. He rubbed at his brick red face and clearly had no idea how to proceed.

“How about we just leave … and forget all about this?” she said, unleashing her sweetest smile and fluttering her lashes at him. Fred took her elbow and pulled her back against him.

The officer found his voice, though it was an octave higher than usual. “Okay, sounds like a good idea. You folks have a nice… evening. I won’t be back around.” 

He tipped his hat to them and strode quickly to his police car and was gone so fast that loose gravel flew out from his tires. 

Ginger turned on Fred. “I knew we’d get caught sooner or later doing something stupid.” 

She was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. Trying to get control before she broke out into hiccups, she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. He covered his face with his hands and collapsed against the side of the car.

“That was horrifying,” he moaned. “I think I just might die of embarrassment. The one time we’re recognized when we don’t want to be.”

The lights of Los Angeles spread out before them, twinkling like stars. Above them, the actual stars were barely visible in the bright night sky. She leaned against the big car next to him and looked up at the stars overhead. Fred looked over at her and a naughty smile grew on his heart-shaped face.

“He said he wouldn’t be back, didn’t he?”

“He did,” she asked, the laughter replaced with a smile. She reached out and began playing with the buttons on his dress shirt. “Say…want to go again?”

“Hell yeah.”

Giggling like teenagers, they jostled each other, vying to be the first into the back seat of the big black car.

********************************

Two weeks later, Fred pulled his snappy rental car into the private gated driveway of the Grosvenor House Hotel in London, happy to be back in his old haunts. The distinctive curved entrance way of the exclusive hotel brought back good memories and the park across the way looked gorgeous, the landscaping full of flowers and trimmed shrubbery. He’d done several plays on the West End, and in fact, had owned a lovely five-floor townhouse not too far from here. It was a shame that he’d sold it, but he wasn’t in London often enough anymore to justify the ongoing expense. Not when the Grosvenor was available. 

Phyllis had never stayed at this particular five star hotel before and was trying to see everything without looking like a tourist. She’d visited London before, of course, with her family when she was younger, but this was her first time here with her new husband. 

The porters assisted them to their room, his favorite, the Royal Hyde Park Suite. They would be staying in London for four days while Fred shopped at Savile Row for his tailored suits, and Phyllis wanted to get in some shopping of her own. Fred noted with a twinge that she was very good at spending his money. Oh well, it kept her happy. 

The other happy person was Peter, who took off immediately to explore the large apartment. All of the travel had been hard on him, but he’d been a trouper. Fred was impressed. He couldn’t wait to get to Dellie’s home and show him an honest-to-god CASTLE. They would have a great time playing hide and seek in the huge mansion. Dellie also kept a few horses, so he could take the boy riding, too. Fred didn’t enjoy riding all that much, but it would be a good time taking Peter around the countryside. Dellie’s castle had extensive grounds and she would dote on the boy, too. With a pang of guilt, he realized that he was really growing to enjoy parenting, even if he wasn’t around all that much. He was suddenly confused as to whether or not he should feel guilty about enjoying his relationship with his step-son. Well, this was his “life away from the studio” and if he compartmentalized it, he should be able to enjoy it. Besides, it wasn’t fair to the child if he didn’t. 

Unpacking his clothing into the dressers, he looked over at Phyllis. She was also unpacking, while trying to keep an eye on the active boy. She looked tired. All the travel had been hard on her, too.  
“Why don’t you take a nap, Phyll?” he said, noting her eyelids drooping. “I’ll keep an eye on Peter.” 

With a grateful smile, she shoved the rest of her clothing into the dresser and kicked off her shoes. In a moment, she was curled up into a tiny ball on the huge King size bed, fast asleep. He gazed at her fondly. Over the three day train ride and the eight day cruise, the further they’d gotten from Los Angeles, the better they’d gotten along. They had had some good talks, about mostly inconsequential things and absolutely not about his dance partner, and Fred was beginning to remember why he’d fallen for her in New York. Not that their relationship could compare in intensity to what he had with Ginger, but Phyllis was intelligent, smart with practical things and had grown up with money – which meant she’d traveled extensively, was well educated and was very knowledgeable about the wider world. Fred was remembering what they had in common and what had drawn them together in the first place.

After taking Peter to dinner in the restaurant, where the other diners didn’t particularly desire children running around, he grabbed the to-go bag and returned to their room. 

The next day, he had a busy shopping day. He spent the entire day in his tailor’s shop on Savile Row. He didn’t see the man often, only every few years, but when he did, he enjoyed talking shop with the tailor about fashion. Finally, though, he had his half dozen suits all planned out. They’d pick them up on their return voyage home. They had two more days in London and then they’d be heading to Ireland.

Returning back to the room at the end of the day, he arrived before Phyllis and Peter. His wife had a childhood friend and a friend from college living in London, and they were spending a lot of time together, catching up and hitting all the good shopping areas. He puttered around the room and settled in to read a good book and ordered room service for three. 

An hour later, a knock on the door startled him. Answering the door, he discovered his wife balancing several large boxes while gripping Peter’s small hand tightly, so as not to lose him. 

“Oh, here, let me help you,” he exclaimed as he relieved her of the packages.

“Thank you!” she said, ushering Peter into the room ahead of her. The little boy kicked off his shoes and immediately headed into the living room area to play with the set of blocks that Fred had ordered from a toy store and had delivered. It was occupying his time very well. 

“So, is there anything left in my bank account?” he joked, shaking a box slightly to determine what was inside. 

“Probably,” she replied snarkily, “I haven’t had time to go through it all yet, not to hit the jewelry stores. Wait until tomorrow and ask me.”

He laughed. With Los Angeles behind them, her dry sense of humor was returning. She hated Los Angeles and everything it represented with everything in her being. London was much more her speed.  
He stacked the boxes in the corner of the room and another knock on the door interrupted them. 

Phyllis got to the door first and opened it. A suited gentleman rolled a cart into the room, stacked high with covered plates and platters. 

Fred took a deep breath. Ah, steak and salad and all sorts of good things. Peter trotted over from where he’d been playing, clearly interested, too. 

As they unloaded the meal onto the dining room table, Phyllis made a hasty exit. Finally, it was all ready and Fred tipped the waiter. 

“Hey Phyll, dinner is ready,” Fred called and was met with silence. Setting up Peter with a small plate of food, he went to look for his wife.

He found her in the bathroom, crouched over the toilet being violently ill. 

“Oh, Christ on a cracker, what happened? Are you okay?” Fred didn’t want to get too close in case what she had was contagious, but she hadn’t complained of any symptoms of illness that he could remember. 

“Ugh,” she said, sitting upright and spitting repeatedly to get the foul taste out of her mouth. “I feel terrible.”

Fred didn’t want to show up at Dellie’s house while ill. 

“Maybe I should call the concierge and arrange to stay a few more days until the flu, or whatever it is that you have, is past. I don’t want to give it to Dellie or anyone else.” 

Phyllis laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I don’t think it’s contagious, Fred.”

Now Fred was stymied. How could she tell? Most illnesses were transferable. Looking increasingly green around the gills, she again began vomiting, but there wasn’t anything else to come up. The dry heaves looked very uncomfortable. He gently held back her hair to keep it from getting in her face. 

Finally, she looked up at him and flushed. Leaning against the cabinet next to the toilet, she looked at him for a long moment. Her hands shook as she accepted the sheets of toilet paper that he handed her, and she wiped her mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, increasingly concerned. 

“Nothing is wrong,” she whispered, looking him in the eye. “This is pretty normal for being three months pregnant.”


End file.
